


The Human Condition

by hellamybellamy



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2019-10-06 12:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17345573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellamybellamy/pseuds/hellamybellamy
Summary: Alissa Cameron did not have the slightest clue why her brother suddenly wanted nothing to do with her anymore-and quite frankly, she just didn't care. Her brother made his choices, and now he was with Sam, with Paul, with Kim. And Alissa had no one, not even her father, to act as confidante-replacement. But along came Paul, and everything changed.





	1. Chapter 1

Saturday nights weren't always this hectic, but they certainly were this anxiety-inducing. The hundredth time of checking myself over hadn't done a damned thing to soothe my insecurities. Really, if anything, it just seemed to worsen them. What if he thinks I'm some hideous hag? What if my dress is too short and he goes around telling everyone I'm easy? What if my hair gets frizzed by the humidity and ruins my whole look? No matter what, the worries kept coming, until I was flopping on the nearest surface—which happened to be my desk chair—and burrowing my face down into my hands. The heartiest groan of all hearty groans escaped me, surely evoking laughs from whatever flitting entities inhabited my room.

"Fuck," I said simply, knowing if I said it any louder, Jared would hear and—damn him—he'd come and lecture me on language, of all things. The jerk took any opportunity to assert big-brother authority over me, and it was any wonder how he hadn't sniffed out my nocturnal plans and, somehow, planted a threat in the soles of tonight's date. Knowing the guy—his name was Tom, bless him—and his fraidy-cat personality, he would have certainly turned tail and ran, so the more minutes that went by without a last-minute phone call, the better for my conscience. Who wouldn't go mad with rage if their sibling cut the ties on a date for the fifth time that month? I wouldn't hold it against my heart to have a fatal arrest if I did end up dateless for the night. I could keel over, and I'd probably thank the fates for it, considering I'd commit murder if I spent more than two minutes still living afterwards.

Besides, Jared didn't have the slightest authority over me, aside from an extra ten months that allowed my itty-bitty embryo to develop in the womb, and even if he did—even if he was the freakin' president of Earth—he didn't deserve my patience, or my obedience, or to even hear my beautiful voice. He was just an asshole, and I wasn't going to cater to his ego like his stupid girlfriend did any chance she got. Fucking Kim, and that obsessive, Jared-is-soooo-perfect complex she had going on before the change. Before he suddenly thought Kim was perfect, and I was just a fucking speck of cosmos in the Milky Way.

"Yo, Alissa—you in there?" And would you look at that—speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

I didn't fight the great, ugly scowl as it appeared, but I did fight off the aching fight-or-flee reflex that accompanied it. "What do you want, asshole?"

A pause. Then a sigh. Jared was always one for dramatics; it was any wonder he didn't join drama club. "Just—stay inside tonight. Please. It's not safe, and I don't want to see you hurt."

Huh. That wasn't what I expected—no, not at all. Despite my curiosity at why he pegged me, his little, annoying sister, important enough to ward from venturing outside, I couldn't stop the bark of laughter, even if I wanted to. "Don't pretend to give a flying fuck about me, Jared," I snapped, ignoring the bitterness, hoping he heard the seeping hatred, even through the door. "And besides, I'm not going outside anyway. So be on your way. Toodles!"

Jared didn't leave. I wondered for half a second whether he flinched at my tone, the intentional use of angry resentment on my tongue, or stopped for a moment just to think about his asshole-ish ways. But then he started speaking— "There's someone who just got done knocking on the door, asking for you. I did you a favor and said you weren't feeling well, so he could go home—"

Oh my god. He didn't. "You… you sent my date home? Home?!" The icy, cutting rage I felt was no match for the bark of my bedroom door, nor the golden metal of my doorknob, and seething, seething, seething, I slammed my door open. Jared was just outside of it, wearing nothing but a pair of cargo shorts and sneakers, and if it were any other day, I would have stuttered some excuse from the vicinity and fled the scene, mortified with embarrassment. But I was filled with rage, and all I wanted to do was punch and hit him until the anger went away and I was filled with nothing but sad humiliation.

How the fuck am I going to find a boyfriend in this living condition? I thought, staring up at Jared with unshed tears, a hole in my chest so big that even my ancestors could see through. "Why do you keep doing this?! I just want someone to care about me! You don't care about me at all! You just want to keep hurting and embarrassing me because you think it's funny! Well, I've got news for you, Jared—my life isn't a freaking joke, okay?! I've got feelings and every time I've ever liked a guy you've ruined everything with your big, fat mouth!"

Silence. Nothing but silence. I was out of breath by the end of my rant, and I didn't bother stopping the tears, even when they ruined my make-up and sent a stream of salty, mascara-infused liquid into my agape mouth, even when they caused Jared's stoic face to crumble into a guilty frown.

"Alissa, I—"

"Fuck you!" I shouted, shoving back at his chest with a fiery vengeance. The shock was enough to send Jared stumbling back, a look of unadulterated remorse masking his stiff, dreary features. "Go the fuck away and never talk to me again! I hate you!"

Jared, looking lost-for-words and utterly speechless, opened his mouth. But nothing would change the effects of what he'd done to me, what he kept doing to innocent boys. No words could fix anything—no affection could make up for the damage caused by his abandonment. So without another word, another look, Jared was gone.

And I was left to crumble, like I always did, with not a single person to turn to except myself.

* * *

High school was a silent, deadly repressor of creativity and a social construct built to convey the following words: Fuck learning on your own time. Do things you don't want so you'll get used to it before you hit the real world! Sometimes I wondered how much trouble I'd get into for telling Principal Howard just how annoyed I felt going to school at 8 every morning, but I supposed nothing could be worse than enduring Mrs. Johnson's lovely, gravelly voice every morning. After all, she thought every noise that came from me was a sign of disrespect; the amount of times I received in-school suspension for yawning during a half-bit ramble was almost comical.

Let's just say the number was more than five but less than twenty.

Today was one of those days where I was threatened with suspension, but not given the slip that sealed my fate; this meant I was in a rather great mood by third period. So good, in fact, that it was noticeable. Too noticeable.

"Why do you look so happy, Alis?" the boy sitting beside me asked: name: Jacob Black, status: not friends, in this lifetime or any beyond. "Normally you look like want to kill something."

The boys sitting behind him laughed, as they always did. There was two of them, which meant I'd need a foot alongside my fists if I were to fight their unwanted, unneeded interventions into my super-happy headspace.

That super-happy smile once occupying my mouth disappeared almost instantly. What could I say? Jacob Black and I were not friends, and I nearly hated him more than I hated shepherd's pie. Key word being "nearly." "There's this thing called 'shutting the fuck up' and it's something you should totally get started on doing before I break your fucking nose," I growled in reply, making sure to do my best impression of an ogre while I was at it. No one would be interested in conversing with someone who smiled and glowered like Shrek.

Jacob Black raised his hands in defense, but otherwise took my advice.

Good. He was learning.

* * *

"So you mean to say you don't find the chief's son even a little bit attractive?" Kallie, my only and closest friend, asked, looking a bit bewildered, if you'd believe it.

I couldn't help it. I snorted. "Why the hell would I find him attractive? You know I hate him, Kal."

The story between me and Jacob was a short and simple one. Billy Black was a great man—our tribe chief, and the sweetest elder, confined to a wheelchair due to past diabetes complications. He sometimes gave me lessons in the tribal language, and it made me feel much closer to my heritage. His son, on the other hand, had always been a direct nuisance in my life. When we were young and Bella Swan—also known as the love of Jacob's life—still visited, he would always show off to her by throwing mud-pies at me and ridiculing me for being so attached to my older brother, Jared, who I used to follow around when we were young and he wasn't such a hardheaded dunce. Yeah, sure, I was Sissy Lissy and Crybaby Cameron, but surely Jacob felt some sort of remorse for being such an utter ass as a bobble-headed child. Right? Yeah, I thought so, too, until the dirty freshman directly embarrassed me during the start of my sophomore year at La Push High School; he asked what kind of undergarments I regularly wore because he could have sworn he saw me fucking Tommy Long the last week before summer's end. From then on, everyone thought I was a whore, always asking me if I had a thing for backseats or if that was just an accommodation for Tommy's sake.

Yeah, I know. I knew back then, and I still know; Jacob Black's a dickhead, and nothing wouldn't change that one, simple fact.

"O-Oh, right—I forgot Jacob's the one…" Kallie trailed off, looking like a small bean of embarrassment as she hugged herself tight. It make me feel bad for being so straightforward.

"Who decided to make everyone believe I'm a whore?" I smiled drily. "Yep, the very one. I'd rather vomit than look at him like that, Kal."

We were in the school cafeteria for once, sitting by the far wall, just a few tables from Jared's usual. Typically, we avoided anyplace with crowds, but the library was closed for cleaning today, so we didn't really have any choice. We'd swapped our lunches—my peanut-butter-jelly sandwich for her miniature s'mores snacks. "Well… why do you find attractive, then?"

"No one, really," I said, but that was decidedly a lie. I just didn't feel comfortable disclosing who I found attractive in such a loud, public place, crawling with eavesdroppers. And a lot of the people I was thinking about were in here, which made the idea of speaking aloud my attractions that much worse. Though, by Kallie's look, I was just leading her to think she wasn't a trustworthy-enough friend for secrets. "I swear it!"

"Well, we all know how promises work out for you," Kallie said, that accusing look on her face. That damned expression was almost always the leading cause of my downfall.

"Ugh, fine," I said. Even though I really didn't want to talk about this aloud, I knew Kallie would pull it from me eventually, and she wasn't the most patient of people, so waiting around wasn't an option. I was screwed at this point, basically. "I think Paul Lahote's attractive. I also think Embry Call's decently pretty. And Tommy—the boy everyone thinks I've fucked—has a nice ass."

"Anddddd?" Kallie leaned closer.

"And what?"

She rolled her eyes at me, like her cryptic aggravation was meant to be easily decoded. Newsflash: I didn't know what the fuck she wanted. "Who do you find prettier?"

"You'd say, 'more handsome!' if you were going for a masculine approach, but—okay, no need for the fucking glare, sheesh." I gave her the side-eye, then did as I knew she wanted, and mumbled, "Palaot."

"What? What was that?" Kallie was teasing, obviously; she knew exactly what I said. She just wanted to hear me say it again.

"I don't like anyone," I said slowly, so the idea would get stuck in that thick head of hers, "but if we had to go superficially here, Paul would out-beat the others."

"He is rather cute," Kallie said agreeably. "Too bad he's a meathead."

I rolled my eyes, but nodded at the term, mumbling, "Yeah. Too, too bad."

Paul Lahote was what you'd call a complete and utter brute. He was notorious for his fights, and his suspensions; rumors had it that his knuckles were calloused from all the times he'd used them on another kid's face. Just knocking into him in the halls could be enough of a cause for him to go ape-shit and lay one or two fists into you. The only parts of him that came out of the fights injured were his hands, and even then, it was just busted skin from the amount of times he opened a wound on the other guy. I couldn't say I didn't find it hot, because I totally did; I just didn't want Kallie thinking I had a type. Then she'd try and score me another date, and I'd have another reason to hate Jared with a burning passion.

"Speaking of Paul, I don't see him anywhere. Where is he?" Kallie turned in her chair to give the cafeteria a far sweep. I did the same, but thankfully, I wasn't the one looking into a wall so I didn't have to move around in my chair. Now that she'd mentioned Paul's absence, I noticed Jared's absence as well. I felt my nostrils flare as assumptions whizzed by in my head.

"Jared's not here either," I mumbled to her, "but his girlfriend is, so he's definitely not skipping to bang her in his backseat." I felt bad for thinking it, and saying it aloud, but really, I'd caught the two of them fooling around outside before. It wasn't far from the truth—anything but, actually.

"You think they're together?" Kallie asked me, turning to look at me with those pretty, almond-shaped eyes of hers.

I quirked a smile. "I doubt it." I remembered that Jared and Paul used to be really great friends, back before sophomore year. I'd even go so far as to say they were best friends. I used to follow Jared around like a little duckling would its mother, and wherever Jared went, Paul came too, so the two of us were very acquainted with one another. So much so that we were each other's first kiss.

After Jared became a junior, the two of them stopped hanging out as much, and Jared became less thrilled whenever I'd ask to go along with him wherever. I knew the two of them were still in cahoots with each other, so it definitely wasn't due to a fall-out; it just took longer than I'd care to admit for me to realize I was becoming an annoyance for Jared. And he started thinking it was weird to have his little sister tag along whenever he'd go to the movies or the beach. He even got Paul to ditch me, which was my ultimate reason for developing a grudge against my brother. His sudden interest and respect for Sam Uley did nothing to help our relationship, either. It just made it worse, especially when he dropped everything to become one of the man's cronies.

I knew the two of them were together. I just didn't know if Paul was getting inducted into their gang, or if the two just wanted to hang out for old time's sake. I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to voice them to Kallie, not when the girl was ignorant to the real root of Jared and I's broken relationship.

Keep your secrets, Alissa. You never know when one will become your greatest weapon.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch—and the end of our conversation. I smiled. "Well, I guess I'll see you in English, Kal," I told her, rushing to put all my waste onto a tray without dropping anything to the linoleum floor. I wanted away from the cafeteria before Kallie could interrogate me on my blatant lying. "Bye!" I went scurrying along, dropping the plastic tray right into a garbage bin as I passed by.

I could hear her call after me, but I didn't reply. After all, it'd just give her the motivation to run me down and interrogate me. And she wouldn't like the answers.

* * *

"Dad, I'm home!" I yelled, depositing my backpack by the doorway. "What's for dinner?"

"Nothing you'd like." That was Dad, all dry humor, no smiles. A very serious man. He'd give Leah Clearwater and her sour attitude a run for her money.

Not liking the implication, I walked into the kitchen. I was unsurprised to find he was right. Pork-chops and corn chowder, lemonade as a refreshment. I felt internal-me gag at the sight of it.

"I don't understand why you can't just make lasagna or something."

Dad made a face, like he was caught between scowling and scoffing. He pointed a wooden spoon at the chowder. "You'd like it if you tried it, Alissa.

"Nah, I'd rather slowly dehydrate in the Grand Canyon," I said wryly, smirking when I caught the eye-roll. Mission accomplished. "Now, show me to the Hamburger Helper—"

"—Hey, Dad, is it alright if Paul stays over tonight?"

I stiffened. I felt whatever words were about to come out of my mouth die right there, hidden beneath months of bitterness rioting in my throat. Taking a note from Dad, I scowled, hard.

Dad didn't notice my internal struggles. Not that I wanted him to. "Of course. Alissa doesn't like my cooking, so there'll be plenty of food."

I turned slightly, noticing both Jared and Paul in the kitchen's opening. They looked a little worse for the wear, both sporting purple bags underneath their eyes and looking totally wrecked. Surprising—no new bruises or cuts. That meant Paul hadn't gotten into a fight.

Jared caught my eye, but immediately looked to the ground when he saw the way I was looking at him. I didn't feel the need to fake affection for him, not after the past few months, and especially not after last night. Dad's presence couldn't lift the storm pressing down on my shoulders.

"Sounds good, Mr. Cameron. Thanks." It was Paul who spoke. Though I wasn't surprised. Jared had a tendency to go quiet and guilty anytime I even looked at him. It was a power I enjoyed having.

Wanting to spare a glance at my brother's best friend, I was surprised—and a little bit bewildered—to find a much different-looking Paul. He had his hair cut short, and he looked taller, bigger, stronger. Even through his shirt, his abs were noticeable, as were his arms, both looking bigger than they were just a week ago. And even though he was already tall, he was even taller now; he reached the wooden head of our doorway now. It made me think back to when I was thirteen and he was fourteen, and how he had to lean down to reach my height. Puberty hit him hard, and puberty hit me late. Even now, it felt like puberty was avoiding me, even though the doctors said I'd gotten my fill of it at age fifteen.

I couldn't help marveling at Paul, an eyebrow raising high at the way he looked now. I had never expected for him to go from handsome to fucking hot.

I felt embarrassed when I realized he noticed my gaze, and I quickly turned my back to instead look at my father. Surely that'd get rid of the feeling of heat lurking at the back of my neck. Too late. The thought of Paul noticing me, though, was hard to get rid of it, and I continued to thnk about it and feel embarrassed about it. An unfortunate predicament, considering the apple of my thoughts was standing mere feet away.

"Look at Paul, Alis—why can't you have good manners like him?" Dad asked me, giving me that stern look he had anytime I did something he didn't like.

I rolled my eyes. I found I was doing a lot of that these days. "Can I go to Kallie's tonight? Her family's having spaghetti." It wasn't lasagna, but I could go for anything that wasn't corn chowder.

Jared was the one to open his yap this time. "Are you trying to go out with Joshua again? I thought you gave up on that." I turned back around, sneering when I saw the look on his face. The brotherly look.

"Joshua is ancient history, dear brother," I said acidly. "Didn't you hear? Tommy's my latest attempt at a conquest. That way, the rumors won't actually be rumors anymore."

Jared stared at me for a moment. He didn't seem mad, weirdly enough. "Tommy's a man-whore," he pointed out instead.

"Wow, who knew that? Of course he's a man-whore."

"Then why would you want to go out with him?"

"Because I'm bored, and I want a boyfriend."

"You're going to get chlamydia."

"Good. Then you can pay for the doctor's bill with the money you use to get in Kim's pants."

Jared actually growled at that. Huh.

"What, are you a dog now? I thought I was the bitch in the house," I taunted.

Dad grabbed me by my shoulder, squeezing tightly. Ow. "Stop provoking your brother, Alissa," he said warningly. "And language."

Paul clapped Jared on the shoulder, looking like a laugh was caught in his throat. It probably was. I was a comedian, after all. I liked the way smiles and laughs looked on him, I decided; they fitted him far more than scowls and sneers did.

I supposed that Paul knew I was looking at him, because he suddenly turned his gaze over towards me. And that's when my world stopped.

It was like gravity no longer existed. And Jared and Dad weren't in the room. It was just Paul and I—just the two of us—five feet apart, and staring into each other's eyes. Several emotions flitted by in his: shock. Happiness. Longing. Pain. It's almost like a switch kept flickering on and off, as if his feelings kept getting swept in the ocean of brown that was his eyes, and his expression twisted, matching whatever those eyes portrayed.

My voice and breath were caught in my throat. I didn't know what to think, whether to cut eye-contact or faint gleefully. I felt like my entire future was staring straight through me.

"Oh, my God," Jared said, teeth gritted so hard you could hear the grind, and that's when I fell out from my daze. And I realized Paul and I shared a moment, a romantic moment, far longer than we should have.

Paul was grinning before, but the sound of my brother's voice knocked the grin right off his face. "Sorry, man," he muttered, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "I didn't—"

Jared grabbed Paul's shoulder, and shoved him into the living room, not sparing me or our father a glance. The moment they got out of eyesight, the bickering started. Then the shouting.

"Well, that was awkward," I said. My heart was pounding out of my chest.

Dad gave me an unreadable glance before turning and getting back to cooking.

What the fuck just happened?


	2. Chapter II: Shit Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit goes down.

**_Saying this would be a betrayal to the very essence of my being,_** but as a stupid, naïve little girl, I thought I meant something special to Paul Lahote. I gave him my first kiss, and he gave me his, and I was sure that though Jared no longer acknowledged me as his best friend, Paul wouldn’t exhibit the same treatment; _he’s not like that, he’s a good guy, he’s honest,_ all fleeting thoughts, unwitting notions from the head of a hopeless romantic, ones I would refuse admitting to, even if my dishonesty killed me. I thought he was different, but he proved himself a follower, and his hurting gaze was not something of a weapon, even if it caused my chest pain as I cut the final tie I had to anyone but Kallie O’Brien.

          _You cut the ties,_ I reminded myself. _You know what kind of people they are._

Paul was a good guy—I could admit to that, no matter how hard my heart lurched at the very mention of his person—though I was unsure whether his goodness could ever possibly run its layers anywhere near me. I felt his true colors only showed around those he most cared about—a list that I could physically feel shorten the longer he went with irrationalizing, _externalizing_ , his anger.

I tried telling myself all this on the way to school that next morning. Though the contact between us yesterday screamed chemistry, it also gleamed with _danger_ —danger of a passion so bright, it seared the thin, thin line between brazen ecstasy and regret. And even if we _could_ manage the risk of fleeting passion, even if we surpassed the shallow and submerged ourselves in blissful ignorance, we put ourselves in peril of jeopardizing a fateful happiness.

I could be wrong for him.

He could be wrong for me.

We could hurt each other, tear one another apart, until the point of no return, until love became an impossible feat.

I knew him.

He knew me.

Nothing could save us from crashing. And as I gripped the steering wheel tight, I knew I was overanalyzing and reading too far into things, _again._

Paul didn’t care about me the way I sometimes wished he did. And due to that, a romantic relationship was practically _impossible._ So hoping for a contradictory decision by the fates really wasn’t going to help anything.

Well, except give me the impression I was an idiot. An extremely big idiot. Paul had joined my brother’s gang! He was with Sam now! What was the stupidest decision I could make?

I huffed a laugh, pressing the horn at a teenage boy who skateboarded by my car a little too close for comfort. _Convince myself I like the guy, of course._

        -

        “You look like death,” Kallie deadpanned—rather bluntly—when I shuffled into our art-class, a spare minute from being tardy, that very _lovely_ morning.

          I laughed, but the sound was dry. Humor wasn’t a specialty of mine in the mornings. “Well, fuck, you sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself, _K_.”

          Kallie didn’t respond. She just threw up a funny-looking thumbs-up—one that looked more like the formation of a clawing motion—and I chose not to comment. If she wanted to look stupid—well, who was I to make remarks and judgments without a checkboard for documentation?

          Instead of saying anything else, I dropped my bag to the floor and proceeded to the cabinets. Without any real inspiration, and without incentive for a true _chef-d'oeuvre_ or any _real_ creative piece, I decided on an array of colorful hues, and claimed the biggest canvas I could find. It barely made the fit for my easel, but I paid the comical sizing no mind, and set to work.

          The picture I had in my head was one that truly spoke volumes on my communiqué expertise. I’d call it _Girl Hates People and People Hate Girl._ It’d have two perfect strangers chunking a scruffy girl over a cliff, ugly and unrecognizable because last time I painted a satisfyingly grotesque scene, Mrs. Meadows knew I’d portrayed myself being hurt or killed in some fashion, and had _Mr_. Meadows (her lovely bear of a husband, and the school counselor) give me a rundown on why it was wrong to paint me getting eaten by a pool of sharks.

          I told him it was just a painting. He told me it was a foreboding look inside my head that rang alarm bells. Which I thought was amusing, if only for the lack of any real emotion on his face. Why play yourself the sympathetic caretaker if you couldn’t even fake your worry?

          _Whatever,_ I thought, drawing the cascade of oceanic waves that Painting-Me would crash into. _No one here knows what the hell they’re talking about._

-

          Lunchtime, yet again—but this time, Jared and Paul were actually in attendance for today’s wonderful carte du jour of meatloaf, grilled asparagus, and buttered rolls.

          They were at their usual table—Kim accompanying them, of course. Jared had his arm around her, talking to Paul—who sat across from the couple like the glum, brooding bachelor he was—though Paul wasn’t actually responding. If anything, he looked bored. And contemplative. An interesting combination. Hm.

          Kallie snapped her fingers in front of my eyes, and I had to jump to attention, body going stiff with surprise. “Hello? Are you even paying attention, Alis?”

          I looked at Kallie, then at the other people sitting with us that wonderful afternoon—Erica, a mouthy freshman; Zara, an even-mouthier freshman; and Jeremiah, a _mouthiest-of-the-mouthy_ sophomore. So all-around, Kallie would be getting her worst nightmare come true, and would have to endure an entire twenty-five-minute block of getting attention swiped from her left and right. A great tragedy indeed, especially when compared to my attention-deficient span that could only operate in randomized intervals.

          I smiled, putting too many teeth into my mouth’s spread to be real and unforced. “Of course!” I was unable to bite my tongue. And I certainly didn’t have the capability to find a grasp on my tone, because the sarcasm slipped out, and the smile turned into a crooked smirk. As it always did. “Okay, maybe not. Maybe I zoned out before you even started talking.”

          Before Kallie could roast me alive, Erika began to squirm in her seat, squealing with laughter. She had a finger waggling in my direction before I could even blink. It made me want to take her by the hand and snap each finger like a carrot. “See, see! I _told_ you she wasn’t listening!” She nestled into Kallie’s side, putting her head into the crook of her neck. “I would _never_ do that to you, Katie.”

          Kallie’s face was turning pink with discomfort, but at the final word, her face fell perfectly flat. “It’s Kallie,” she deadpanned.

          “ _Oh._ ”

          I rolled my eyes. When Kallie and I found ourselves void of anywhere to sit, we flocked to our usual table (sat by the far west of the cafeteria) and got its inhabitants (none of which we really knew—or liked, for that matter) to let us sit with them, not knowing the trouble that laid ahead for us. Unbeknownst to Kallie, I really only wanted this table for an easy vantage of Jared and Paul’s table. I got an easy excuse for having to look at them, as they were in my direct sight if I sat in the seat I was in. And I knew Kallie enjoyed the view as well, because she had a wonderful view of Embry Call’s backside. And she had a big, fat crush on the boy.

          Jeremiah, the dick, slithered right up next to me. “How ‘bout we ditch the losers, and go catch a flick at my house? Maybe get a few burgers at Irma’s Diner.” When I turned to look at him, he flashed me a wink. He thought he looked suave, but really, it was like witnessing a boy get jabbed in the eye with a pen. I was sure the disgust showed on my face, and in my body as it twisted away from him, because his cool grin fell into a frown. “Don’t give me that look, Alissa.”

          That _look? What?_ I didn’t know what I was doing before I spat the same exact words out; “ _That_ look? What?”

          The confidence had faltered, like he didn’t realize the extent of his words before I cried for an annotation, and a grimace-like smile was in its place. “Give me that _look._ Like you’re a fucking prude. All the guys know you throw yourself at anyone who looks a second time.”

          Erika stopped talking, and had lifted her head from Kallie’s shoulder to blink dubiously in Jeremiah’s direction; Kallie was sitting pin-straight, gaping at Jeremiah like a repulsed goldfish; and Zara was merely admiring her nails, trying to hide her disgust behind pursed lips.

          “Um, _what_ did you just say to me?”

          Jeremiah laughed, like he found this funny. But I didn’t see a single fucking thing I felt like laughing about. “You know exactly what I just said,” he said, smiling at me—like he wasn’t the biggest asshole in all of fucking Washington state. Like he still thought I’d say yes to a date with him. “You’re just in denial that you’re a desperate virgin slut—”

          Before he could finish, Paul _fucking_ Lahote was lifting the boy from his seat and vaulting him over the table. Except there was a wall right against the back of the table so Jeremiah tumbled onto the chairs aligning the back, which sprung two squealing girls from their seats and over the table, to my side, themselves. And he was yelling shit; “ _Who the fuck do you think you are saying shit like that to her?!”_     

          I watched Paul jump onto the table, then nimbly slide against the wall—landing on top of Jeremiah, and pinning him between the table and the wall. He threw a fist into Jeremiah’s mouth. And he continued yelling—“ _Don’t you ever fucking talk about her again_!”

          I jumped from the table, tripping over myself and only saved by Kallie’s shaking arms. We both shared a wide-eyed look, equally shocked by Paul’s very _sudden_ and very _unexpected_ appearance, but personally, I was a bit pleased to see him pummeling a boy in the name of my honor. As repulsive the notion was, I felt affection swell in my chest—and I couldn’t help the desire I had to kiss him, hug him, _drown him_ in my gratitude—

          Jeremiah’s arms were like noodles, flailing as they attempted to hit anywhere on Paul that would halt the assault he was facing, and it was a sad—and very weak—attempt, as Paul was notorious for his fist-fights, and there wasn’t a single one where he hadn’t come out victorious. And after he came back to school, even the teachers had noticed how tall, broad, and buff he suddenly appeared, how terrifying he looked when he scowled. It was a no-brainer to avoid any and all altercations with the boy.

          Which, Jeremiah definitely had, but Paul was in cahoots with Jared, and I was Jared’s little sister, so Paul wasn’t about to just _tolerate_ someone talking shit to my face! Right? This couldn’t have any of the protective tendencies I was _hoping_ for; it was just fierce, brotherly loyalty, none of that mushy nonsense. Paul wasn’t like that

          Right?

          Before Paul could _really_ get some damage in and permanently fuck up Mr. Right’s assets (not that they could even charm the thong off a stripper) two of the mathematics teachers were pulling the table from the wall and Mr. Meadows was hauling Paul (still swinging and still seething with anger) off Jeremiah’s frail, bleeding body.

          “Get the nurse!” Mr. Meadows snapped at one of the math teachers.

          I wasn’t paying attention. All my attention was focused on Paul—the nitty-gritty details of him, whether that be the blood splatters on his cheeks or the way his nostrils flared with sweltering anger, like he was inhaling rage and exhaling fumes.

          His eyes snapped up to meet mine. And we stared at each other—me with a brazen look of awe, of gratitude, and him with an expression of utter anger. But that anger calmed the moment he registered the look in my eyes. The hunching in his shoulders calmed, and neared the crescendo—falling and falling and falling, until he was perfectly still, and we were left looking at each other. Mr. Meadows was yelling in his ear, telling him he’d chipped one of Jeremiah’s teeth, but he didn’t care or didn’t seem to hear—one of those two options—because he just continued to stare at me.

          Until there was no longer any anger on him. Until he just stared at me with his own form of brazen awe.

          “Come on, Mr. Lahote,” snarled Mr. Meadows. “You and I are going to see Principal Myers, and I can _promise you_ you’ll be suspended for at least a _week._ ” Instead of fighting him, as I expected Paul would, he willingly let the counselor and the other math teacher yank him to his feet.

          His eyes never left mine—not until he was pulled through the cafeteria doors, and the heat his presence caused had to vanish.

          And his eyes stayed—not with me, but in my memory, for I could never forget the feeling his stare embedded deep within me.

-

          “You _can’t_ tell me you aren’t seeing him,” Kallie said gushingly, throwing a rock at the river with weak-willed intention. “I mean—the way you guys stared at each other! Even _I_ had chills!”

          “We’re not together,” I told her, shrugging at the disbelieving look she threw me. “What? I’m telling the truth!”

          Kallie shook her head, taking another rock and throwing it as hard as she could. It didn’t skip, like we’d been doing for the past hour, but it certainly scared a few birds when it sailed straight through the leaves of a nearby tree. “I just wish Embry would look at me like that.” She sighed.

          The girl was completely smitten with Embry, and it reminded me of Kim in freshman year, before Jared started looking at her in the same light. “You know, maybe he would if you’d actually just _talk_ to him.”

          “B—But what if Jacob makes fun of me?”

          “I’ll beat the living crap out of him, duh,” I told her, looking like she’d spoke blasphemy at me. What kind of best friend did she take me for? A cheap one? “He knows not to mess with me, especially when it comes to my only friend.”

          Kallie rolled her eyes, looking up from the plethora of rocks under her feet to spare me a fleeting, laughing glance. “Jacob’s, like, _huge_ though. And you’re, like, yay-feet high.” She demonstrated, raising to just her waist.

          I pantomimed a laugh, using my hand to create a mock-talking gesture. “Ha-ha-ha, very funny. I’m a bit taller than Peter Dinklage, thank you.”

          We continued to skip rocks in silence, both too absorbed in our attempts to multiply our skips than to attempt and ride along a conversation. I had managed to finally obtain eight skips on one go when Kallie cleared her throat. I looked over, hair obscuring my face.

          “He must really care about you, to risk expulsion like that,” she said quietly. And I could tell she really meant the words, because she moved my hair back from my face and smiled at me. And the smile screamed reassurance, unlike Jeremiah’s, which called for a red flag and a blast of concern. “I’m happy for you.”

          I raised my hand, and grasped tight onto Kallie’s, flashing her a brief, grateful grin. “You’re, like, totally the best. And come tomorrow, I’ll be your wing-woman and tell Embry just how good you are at cliff-diving and gymnastics in the bedroom—”

          “Oh my God, Alissa, I literally _hate you.”_

“Even Pinocchio could tell that’s a lie.”

          And when she threw a rock at me, I could hardly care, because I was laughing, and I felt like the world was infinite as she began to laugh too.

          -

          I was sitting at the dinner-table, pushing around a piece of pasta, thinking about the way a pair of certain brown eyes made me feel, when I felt my Dad hovering beside me. I didn’t hide my smirk as I flicked my gaze up to look at him.

          “Whatcha need, Papa-bear?”

          Dad looked embarrassed, in a totally unlike-Dad way. Dad didn’t feel _embarrassment._ He was usually the one embarrassing, not the other way around. Though, I was uncertain what had embarrassed him. Maybe a gentlewomanly caller? “I need to ask you a favor.”

          That wasn’t expected. And it didn’t answer why his face was about a dozen shades of pink. “What’s that favor?” I was beside myself with intrigue.

          “I need you to take this package down to the Blacks’ house,” he said slowly, like it hurt for him to get the words out. Like father, like daughter, because Dad, too, held a strong rivalry with the Blacks. Though, his feelings were much stronger for Billy than they were Jacob, unlike I, who held affection for the older man. A kind of affection I didn’t let my Dad have influence over. Jacob was like fleas—couldn’t get rid of him, no matter how hard I tried. “It was on my front porch this morning. And I know that damned man is just trying to get me to show up at his own porch with it.”

          “So you want me, his son’s arch-nemesis, to do it instead?” I raised an eyebrow, entirely deadpan. Billy loved me, but Jacob wanted to kill me, and I’d rather live, thank-you-very-much.

          Dad scrunched up his face, looking lost for words. “When you put it that way, it sounds just as awful,” he said, with a sigh. “I can’t do it. And Jared isn’t here, so he can’t do it.”

          I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know why I put up with you,” I said dramatically, feigning a groan. “But I guess I’ll do it. Just because you’re my dad.”

          Dad’s eyes lit up, and it made me feel a tad bit better about what I was about to do. Even though I still wanted to punch a wall for going anywhere near Jacob Black. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, placing a sweet kiss on my forehead. “Be safe!”

          Grabbing hold of the box with one hand, I used my other to fall into a mock-salute. “Ai-ai, Captain.” I winked, then headed out the door. I was definitely not looking forward to this, but I supposed there were _worse_ situations to find myself in, like waking up in the same bed as Jacob Black.

          I shuttered. _Definitely_ worse situations.

          -

          It was just a ten-minute walk to Jacob Black’s house, so I didn’t bother starting my car, as that just wasted fuel, and I was a cheapskate when it came to my gas tank. Jacob’s house was a quaint little place, red as a barnyard and totally unsuspecting. And by totally unsuspecting, I mean you wouldn’t know a complete asshole lived there!

          Biting back my dignity, and any mean retorts that would definitely leave me at the mere sighting of Jacob Black, I walked up the stairs and to the door. And I knocked.

          I waited.

          And waited.

          And waited.

          But there was no answer.

          I knocked again, this time more furiously. I waited again, this time more anxiously. After a plethora of repeats, I discovered that Billy Black was MIA. Or sleeping. Either one. Whichever one.

          I disliked both options. They both meant I’d be here a while, or have to go home, tail tucked between my legs.

          And I was leaning more towards the last idea, essentially realizing I preferred my house over this farm-looking alternative, but the sound of chitchat and laughter made my blood curdle and eyes widen.

          I didn’t want to go home with this stupid package in my hands. And Dad definitely didn’t want it anywhere near his house, if the embarrassed look on his face had any say in it.

          I tromped down the stairs, then walked around the staircase, following the sound of voices. I came across a garage, with a beat-up truck parked haphazardly near it. I frowned, nose twitching at the sight, only turning away when I felt myself to begin preparing the paint-jobs of the sad vehicle and my own car. I then looked towards the garage.

          Inside of it was a pale, unfamiliar girl who looked like she came from Forks, and Jacob Black.

          I grinned. _This_ should be fun.

          “Oh, _hey_ , Jacob,” I called out, feeling a bit scared by the utterly angry glare he shot me. Had I interrupted something? Totally accidental! “Fancy seeing you here.” I laughed, obnoxiously, knowing full-well he probably wanted to shoot me in the foot with a machine-gun.

          “This is my house,” Jacob said, through gritted teeth. He was definitely restraining myself; there was no other explanation for why he looked so damn constipated. “What are you _doing_ here?”

          I held up a finger, then looked down at the package. It had already been opened once, so it wouldn’t hurt to open it twice, right? I tore the tape with one of my finger nails, and haphazardly popped open the tabs, nearly dropping the box in my attempts. What I saw inside had me gaping.

          It was a pair of bubblegum-pink capris. And on top was a note, written in chicken-scratch scrawl: _I saw these, and they made me think of you. I know how you struggle to express your true self._

          I couldn’t help it. I fucking burst out laughing. “Oh my _God,_ dude, your dad’s my idol. He’s a freakin’ comedian.”

          Jacob raised an eyebrow, looking less angry and more intrigued now, and he just shrugged at the pale-faced girl when she stared cluelessly at him. He stood from where he was sitting and strode out of the garage.

          Still hunched over, still breathless with laughter, I handed over the package. Jacob took it wordlessly.

          “What— _oh my God._ I watched him pick these out. I thought it was for a present to send to one of my sisters.” Jacob scrunched up his face, letting out a laugh.

          “It’s fucking comedy-gold,” I wheezed out, tears appearing in my eyes. I was literally aching from the laughter. The feeling of two pairs of eyes had me regaining composure, however, and I had to force myself to clear my throat, because I was just _dying_ to know the name of the only girl I’d ever seen Jacob willingly speak to. “Sorry, uh, I’m Alissa. Alissa Cameron.”

          The girl was awkward; I could tell she had no sense of social direction, because she raised a hand, giving it a sad, clumsy wave, and smiled lopsidedly. _Did she know any social cues_? I couldn’t help but wonder. “Bella Swan.”

          I blanched. I remembered Bella; me and Jacob were her playmates as children, though Jacob utilized me as a source of embarrassment, which he thought to be the ultimate tool for attaining affection when it came to cold-as-stone Isabella’s heart, something that made me learn early on to avoid the two and continue following my brother around. It was weird to see her now—pale as a ghost, all awkward, clumsy frame and no character whatsoever. It made me eyeball her for a second, totally confused.

          Jacob nudged her, muttering, “She made mud-pies with us when we were kids.”

          “Oh!” Bella’s face brightened, and her mouth curved up into a smile. It was a very awkward one, but I expected nothing more and nothing less. What I didn’t expect was the eagerness in her expression; what did she have to be so eager about? “We should hang out sometime.”

          I raised an eyebrow, looking at Jacob. He seemed very unhappy. And if he seemed unhappy, that meant for me to feel sheer glee. And I totally did. “Oh, uh, okay. When?”

          Bella didn’t seem to expect my agreement, because she opened and closed her mouth wordlessly. “Well, Jake’s fixing up some bikes for us to try out soon. He’s almost got them finished. You can come with, if you want.”

          I surreptitiously glanced at Jacob, seeing the way he clenched his jaw and his fists as Bella spoke. He did _not_ want me to join them. Which was the ultimate reason why I said what I did.

          “Oh, _hell_ yes.”


	3. Chapter III: When I Say Run, I Mean Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go cliff-diving!

**_"I'M AN IDIOT, DAD,"_** I said the minute I walked through the door.

Dad was sitting on the living room couch, sifting through a leather-bound book that looked like it belonged to a medieval decade. Just seconds after I walked in, he glanced up, pushing at his reading glasses as he peered nervously over them. "Did you get rid of it?" he asked. I was sure he'd become paranoid Billy would pop out of nowhere at that moment, bearing another pair of pastel-colored bottoms as a mocking prize.

I rolled my eyes. Suddenly, I wished I had kept the pants because wow, did he really just ignore me? Pretend I didn't speak? "I did. I'm surprised you didn't keep his gift, though. I'm sure pink would look marvelous with your tan," I told him, motioning up and down my own legs for emphasis.

A look of great distaste overcame the nervous disinterest once occupying his face. "I see why you and Billy get along," he said rather drily, before turning his attention back to the leather-bound book. You see, my father worked in the reservation's archives; a perfect career for someone as quiet and studious as Dad. He also did writing on the side, but that's a story for another time, no pun intended. No one needs to know the lengthy, tedious details behind Dad's work as a novelist. He was a very smart cookie, and if I wasn't so frustrated with him two-thirds of the time, maybe I would have felt proud of the man.

I crossed my arms, and began a steady rhythm of tapping my feet. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. I vowed to myself—I'd keep doing this until Dad would look up and inquire as to the look on my face. If he didn't do as wanted, maybe I'd press a sneaker-clad foot onto a sock-clad one. Armor against cloth. A war that I, the great Alissa Cameron, was destined to win.

Dad finally looked up when I got to my eighth interval of tapping. He looked annoyed, and I was sure the smug expression on my face was making his blood curdle. "Can I help you?" he asked. It came out aggravated. I wondered to myself, Do I risk his wrath, or get out while I still can?

I came to a conclusion; I wanted to vent to somebody about the sorry mess I was in, and I couldn't do it with Kallie since she was visiting a cousin this weekend, and I sure as fuck wasn't going to talk to Jared, so that left only one option (available option, if I counted Paul Lahote, the asshat); my stern, emotionless workaholic of a Dad.

I smiled, maybe a bit too wide. "Well... I need advice."

Dad was not enthused. "I'm an archivist, Alissa—not a psychologist."

"I know," I said, curling my arms behind my back. "I know, I know, I know... butttt, you are super-smart. So you definitely can give me some advice."

Dad rolled his eyes, but set his book to the side; I counted that as a win-win. "Go on."

"I accidentally made plans with Jacob and his pale-faced girlfriend—more like the Estella to his Pip, but we'll pretend they're together—and I regret it. How do you break plans when you only made the plans ten minutes ago?" I said quickly, not stopping to breathe.

There was a point of silence after that. Dad was merely staring at over his glasses, and if I had to guess, I'd say he was speechless. Partially speechless. Of course, he had to reply—it was in the code for fathers to respond to their children in their time of need, after all. "I didn't know you read," the asshole said, looking stunned—fucking stunned!

"Of course I read! I only have one friend, and she's off hanging with her family most of the time I'm awake," I said angrily.

"You do sleep a fair amount," Dad said.

"That doesn't excuse her from friendship duties," I said condescendingly. "Did you forget the rules of friendship after Billy decided he liked Quil's granddad better than you and your mopey attitude?"

Dad wasn't fazed, and I wasn't surprised. It took a lot to trigger the man's anger. I never had the pleasure of laying witness to it—not that I was disappointed, or anything. Well, maybe a little bit. He just raised an eyebrow at me. "Why did you make friends with Jacob Black? I thought you 'despised him with a fervent, skull-rattling passion.'" He made the quotation marks, which only added to the amount of self-loathing boiling in my stomach.

I shrugged and said, "He looked mad as hell when Bella offered, so I let it happen! Curse me and my stubborn, tension-loving ass!"

Dad seemed disinterested with the direction in which this conversation was going, so I really wasn't surprised when he picked up his book and started flipping through the pages again. The glass in his eyeglasses glinted off the ceiling fan's light, and when he heard no footsteps, he turned his critical, ever-so-calculating gaze onto me. "You might as well go with them," he told me. "Don't you usually jump for joy when you get the opportunity to outwit him?"

My jaw dropped. "OMG, Dad," I whispered, looking at him with a newfound fondness that the world would never see on my face again. "You're so freakin' right. I can make that asshole regret the day he ever thought to throw that mudpie at me. Thanks a bunch, Dad! You. Are. The. Best!" I swooped down to plant a firm, sloppy kiss on his stubbly cheek, then practically flounced up the stairs, so locked in my own thoughts that I barely heard my father say, " _Kids these days_."

_-_

Three days later, on January 23rd, I decided that I wanted to do something stupid. So stupid, in fact, that when I told Kallie about it, she called a reckless, adrenaline-addicted idiot. Well, no, that's what I told myself. Kallie didn't really have an opinion; she never did when it came to me doing stupid shit, and usually she just joined in.

I wanted to go cliff-diving.

And not just cliff-diving. I wanted to jump from the very top—not from the lower level, like all the popular kids did from Forks High and my own high school. It wasn't me being desperate to prove something—or maybe it was, and I was just in denial of it—but was just me loving the thrill that accompanied risky endeavors. This was extremely risky, but I was eager to fulfill that small part of jumping for joy when it came to doing idiot things.

Kallie had told me over the phone, "You really do have it out for yourself, don't you?" I assumed that meant she was indifferent, and was certainly not gonna risk her ass for a lowly peasant like me.

Imagine my surprise when I was huffing and putting up the hill leading to La Push's Cliff of Death, and I saw Kallie dangling her feet over the edge, scantily-clad and whistling a tune.

"Dude, what the fuck!" I gasped.

Kallie turned her head, and a whole thing of hair fell right in her eyes. She couldn't remove her hands from the edge, however, so she just left it there and cheerfully said, "Hey, Ali! You seem tired. I thought you said you army-crawl whenever you have to go up steep hills?"

I opened and closed my mouth. Wow, she really got me there. "Well, I lied," I settled for, then hastily added, "I thought you weren't coming! I woulda wore a freaking bathing suit if I thought I had someone to look nice for!"

Kallie rolled her eyes. "You mean Paul?"

"I can't believe you'd speak blasphemy at me like this," I said, feigning a look of astonishment. "I thought we had something special."

"My heart lies with only one person, and that person is not you, my love."

"That pet name says differently."

"Stop hounding shit over me, Al! It's so rude."

I cheesed, hard. "Wow, I knew you were an asshole, but a hypocrite too? Dang."

Kallie looked ready to retort, but her jaw went slack. She scowled. "You win this round, but mark my words..." She waggled a finger threateningly at my.

"Alright, alright—just get up! We gotta get this show on the round," I said demandingly, letting the excitement thrum through my fingers as I got hyped, hyped, hyped. And I held out a hand. I was suddenly grateful that Kallie was here; if she wasn't, I probably would have gotten scared and decided nope, not for me.

Kallie swung her legs around from the cliff edge, then made to get up—but the grass of the cliff was wet with the dewy residue that accompanied gloomy days, and I could only feel the horror as it swept through my bloodstream the minute she slipped—and then I was sprinting towards her. At the last second I managed to grab her around the waist, and even though it hurt my arms and legs at the resounding impact I made with the watery ground, it made it where Kallie's legs were the only part of her dangling from the edge. As the adrenaline washed through me, I could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

"Oh my god, Kallie, I just had a freaking heart attack!" I said breathily, voice like a flutter of wind as it hit the atmosphere, as I struggled to get my heartbeat and breathing under control.

From behind, before Kallie could counter with her own comment, I heard footsteps approach. And then a familiar voice. "You and me both."

Both Kallie and I turned our heads, leaning back to the point where we were nearly laying on the cold, hard grass. I looked up into the dark, stormy sky, and saw a face I wished I could wipe from memory. Of course, the asshole who witnessed our near descent into deadly terrain was Jared. Who else would it have been?

I spoke too soon, because Jared wasn't alone. He had Sam, Paul, and—wait, is that Embry? I shook my head, tried to clear my vision, but the picture was still the same. It was Embry, but his hair was cropped short and he was a lot taller and broader than I remembered. I looked between the foursome with an expression resembling that of a trapped, aggressive Yorkie. I say Yorkie because I sure as fuck wasn't a Pitbull.

"What brings you to our humble abode, a la La Push Beach?" I asked, trying, and failing, to bring the attention away from our near-death experience with my humor. It only made the boys frown harder. Or maybe it was a smile. I couldn't really tell, from my position here on the ground.

"You shouldn't be here, Alissa. And what were you trying to do? Cliff-dive? You could die from that. And you nearly fucking did! Both of you. The two of you need to go home. Now."

I furrowed my brow into a glare. Who did he think he was, scolding me? My father? He was hardly a speck of matter in orbit. "We can share the cliff," I said slowly, letting all my anger seep out, replaced by a bitter resentment it took years to build. "Or would you rather I take my chances and span the ocean?"

Jared narrowed his eyes, threateningly. "I'm your brother, Alissa. You should listen to me."

"Should is a lot different of a word to will, brother dearest, though I suppose they share the same meaning in that tiny brain of yours," I spat out. "I could hardly fucking care what you think."

I tugged Kallie up, looking at her for the first time since she nearly fell. She had an expression that almost reminded me of a beaten, terrified puppy. She huddled close to me, as though I was the only thing keeping her tied to this world, and the words I was thinking died in my mouth. I was ready to prove Jared a point by not heeding his words and jumping anyway, but I could tell Kallie was shaken by what just happened. It would be heartless of me to drag her down to the crashing waves below when all she really needed was a good action movie and triple-cheese pizza.

I turned to look at Jared. Another glare formed. "You need to keep your nose out of my business, okay? And stop pretending you care. Obviously you don't."

"Alissa, don't provoke him," Sam Uley warned, standing there beside Paul, looking as solemn as a fucking funeral moderator.

I couldn't help the near-hysterical laugh that left me. "Provoke him?" I scoffed. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. And though a part of me insisted this was Samuel Uley—the person I wished I had the courage to punch in the nose for taking Jared away from me—and there was no reason why I should comply with anything he wanted, another part, a smarter part, wasn't ready to see just what would happen if I truly did push Jared beyond his limit. So I resorted to shaking my head. "What the fuck ever. C'mon, Kallie." I gently nudged the girl forward. But she wasn't moving. I pressed a little harder. "Kallie."

Then I saw what was causing her to be immobile. And I nearly groaned in exasperation.

Embry Call was staring at her. His jaw was slackened, and he barely seemed to acknowledge the looks of surprise that his colleagues were throwing him. I tried to decode what I saw in his eyes. But I couldn't. It seemed the only person with eyes I could read so easily was Paul Lahote, and I labeled that down to him being an open book—

Wait. I saw this look once before. On Paul's face. Which meant, if I was being accurate in my observations, that Embry was feeling the same longing and regret that Paul had felt while looking at me. What the hell made the two of them have similar molds that accompanied their feelings? What the hell was going on?

I tugged a little harder on Kallie, and was satisfied when she startled. Her gaze dropped from Embry and over to me, which seemed to snap the new recruit from his own trance. When he saw the looks he was getting from all around, he retreated into himself, like he could feel the judgment.

A part of me was morbidly curious. But I'd save that dying desperation for another, much-less-intense day.

"Well, adios, mi not-so-small amigos," I farewelled, trying my hardest not to make eye-contact with Paul. Doing good, doing great, doing marvelous—fuck! I looked at him. _Way to go, dumbass_. "Catch ya on the flip side."

"Be safe," Jared said. If I wasn't so dead-set in feigning ignorance to my empathy, maybe I would have felt bad for the kicked-puppy look in his eyes. But again, I reminded myself—He's being an asshole. Maybe if he gives you an explanation, you can try emphasizing. But only then.

Sam gave a head-nod that I couldn't bring myself to return. He had an air to him that I was unable to place, and that made me angry.

Paul could only stare. He had the same expression he did that day in the cafeteria, one that screamed a monologue that was both endearing and frustrating to no end.

Embry was still shocked. And he was still reveling in his embarrassment. I could tell by the faint redness in his tanned-and-toned cheeks.

I looked my arm around Kallie's, using my other as a vessel for a final goodbye. And the two of us trudged far, far away—until I covered enough distance to mutter in Kallie's ear, "That was some mighty miserable eye-sex if I'd ever seen some."

-

Author's Note: Hey, guys! Just wanted to give a major thank-you to all you wonderful people favoriting, following, and reviewing my work! That makes me feel all mushy and gushy inside, to tell you the truth C: I didn't want Kallie to stay on the sidelines because I luv her sm so I forced her into being a part of the supernatural world I'm sorry

Give me thoughts on whether you all would want to see either Kallie or Alissa as a supernatural character? Or do you want Alissa to shift? Would you like Alissa or Kallie to interact with the Cullens? I'd love to hear what you guys think! Another big thanks to everyone who's reviewed the last two chapters, and I hope you all will stay for the ride as we further venture into Alissa's story!

See y'all next time! :)


	4. Chapter IV: But Did U Die?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bikes w/ Bella and Jake, part one.

I was doing my best not to feel nervous while waiting on the side of the road for a familiarly-beaten Chevy pickup, but it was pretty hard to be calm and collected when I'd spent all of last-night researching into pictures of motorbike accidents and statistical data for motorbike crash deaths. Of course, I only had myself to blame for the anxiety I had about today, but if asked, I'd only claim that I've had a lifelong phobia of motorcycles. The only good thing about humans was that they couldn't tell whether you were lying, unless you had the inherent ability to expose yourself through stutters and flickering gazes.

Speaking of terrible liars—I had a hunch that Bella was one of them. From what I gathered during our first meeting, she didn't seem very cunning. I couldn't deduce from a single chat whether she was clever (we had only exchanged slight pleasantries, which amounted to a very few sentences) so I didn't have the best data to go on, but mark my words—Bella was a bad liar, and I'd learn to what extent it went by the end of our motorbike date.

Third-wheeling a date between someone infatuated and someone oblivious. I never thought I'd have to endure something so hilariously awkward, but I supposed there was a first time for everything. As such, I wasn't expecting to be going somewhere willingly with Jacob Black, yet here I was.

Talk about a twist of events.

It was pathetically obvious that I had tried with my appearance. There was literally no reason to get dressed up for hanging out with two people I hardly even knew—let alone, cared about the opinions of—but what they didn't know, and what I probably wouldn't tell them, was that I somehow managed to score a date with Tommy Long's older sister, Roxanne. I realized the best approach to escaping Jared's radar was to avoid being home, avoid getting dressed with him in the vicinity of the house, and to be picked up from a neutral spot. Kallie didn't have a car, and I had to share my car with Dad (who sometimes stayed home for his work, but mostly had to drive to the archives during the week) so I was going to have Bella drop me off at Irma's Diner whenever we finished up with the bikes. Hopefully it'd be around 5—the time Roxanne and I agreed on—but if it was earlier, or later, I didn't really care. What I did care about was slipping under Jared's nose.

Really, this date with Roxanne wasn't so much of a date as it was an experiment. She needed a tutor for English, and just-so-happens, I was incredibly good at English. What I wanted from this "date" was to see if Jared was stalking me, or keeping tabs, or doing something that allowed him to keep me single as a Pringle. I was suspicious of him, considering he was everywhere I went, always knowing about my dates and putting a stop to them before I even had the chance to open the door and get into their cars. How the fuck did he know me and Kallie were at La Push beach? How'd he know I was going on a date with Joshua from science when I kept it quiet and got ready at Kallie's house? I was sick of this shit.

It made me wonder—if Paul and I ever got to trying a relationship, would Jared try sabotaging that, too? I could only wonder.

Before I could further isolate myself into my thoughts, I saw Bella's truck pull around the forested street corner, her face visible to the brightly-lit front-window. She had a tentative smile on her face, and when she threw up a hand outside of the side-door's window, I threw one back up; without Jacob yet in the vehicle, I had every reason to be polite.

When I hopped in the front, Bella threw me a look. It seemed a twist between hesitance and determination. Weird. I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Uh, that seat's..." She stopped herself.

"What? Dirty? Wow, I feel. My dad spilled coffee in the passenger seat yesterday, and I've been feeling a little irritated ever since—"

"No, it's not that," Bella said, and she sounded rather... snappish. It made my smile drop, and my eyes cut towards her. "That's Jacob's seat."

It took a minute for me to absorb her words, and to recognize them as an implication—but boy, when the realization hit, I could feel the steam coming out of my ears. "Oh, hold—hold up. You expect me... to sit in the back?" I laughed. "You're fucking crazy. This is a freakin' three-seater!"

Bella flinched. "Jacob said he won't come if you're sitting beside him," she said quickly. "I'm sorry!"

Well. I should have expected that. Jacob went from picking at me to hating the very sight of me, so I'd have to go with the latter as his feelings for me today. He probably had a right laugh when Bella agreed to have me sit in the trunk; I bet he took a peak at this week's weather, and was even more determined. Cold and gloomy; the kind of weather I was always complaining about in class.

I stuck with my wits, though, and let my eyes slant into a deadpan, are-you-serious? expression. "You're telling me... that you want to condemn me to the back—the back, where if it rains, I'll turn into a fucking mudpie—just because you want that oversized-donut of a dick-hole happy?"

Bella's face reddened—I really didn't understand why, but it may have had something to do with my unfiltered mouth—but she nodded anyway. I was sure she recognized this argument for as idiotic and childish as it really was, but she was too determined to have her precious Jake satisfied that she was going to disregard logic.

"You're a real peach," I drawled, deciding that if she was going to be like this with me, then I wasn't going to play nice like I told myself I would. The angry, chihuahua-like part of me was ready to rock and roll, utterly set on making today a living fucking nightmare for Jacob Black. With that satisfying thought in mind, I let a small smile slip through my exterior; no other words spared on the matter, I happily sentenced myself to my fate.

FFFFFFFFFFFFF

When we pulled up at Jacob's house, I jumped out of the truck and took my sweet-ass (I refused to admit that I was actually struggling) time to get up into the back. When I was finally there, I looked around, observing the spots of mud and slush that were telltale signs that when it rained, Bella didn't bother to clean her truck from the mudholes she encountered. If I got today's clothes dirty, I was certainly going to attempt the mass-homicide murder of Jacob and Bella. Did she even have a name for her truck? My car was named Lilly, against the recommendations of my Dad who wanted to name her Betty, and she had a "Shit Happens" sticker on the bumper. There was a little monkey in the decal holding his hands up in a What Can Ya Do? gestured.

Dad thought it was downright juvenile. But what did he know? Buzzkills have no sense of humor. Why else did he hate Billy's gift?

As Jacob got into the truck, he wasted no time in shooting me a wicked grin. It made me drop my suave act enough just to scowl and claw at the air. If he wanted to antagonize me, then I'd waste no time in returning the favor, dammit!

Billy's house was about ten minutes away La Push Beach, and Bella mentioned that she was going to a road about two minutes from there, so I was assuming this would be a brief, twelve-minute drive. When Bella started up the truck, I nearly flinched, and I held tight onto the sides. This bitch did not know how to drive, if she thought you kicked the engine like that. Or maybe this truck was just fucking broken.

About eight minutes into the trip, I saw the eclipsing image of La Push's cliff on the horizon. I flashed back to the other day when Kallie and I were going to go balls-deep and risk broken bones for a thrill, and then Jared and his stupid posse showed up! Wow, I really just wanted to punch him. That's probably the reason I was pretending me and Roxanne had a "date" this evening, and I'd brag about it to Jared later if it went swimmingly. If he found out I actually managed to go through with one, he'd be livid. I couldn't miss the temper tantrum that would certainly accompany it. That'd just be sad.

Bella opened the window, and yelled out of it, "Hold on!" But she was a bit behind on the memo, because I didn't get a chance to hold onto anything; before I could panic and save myself from the impending doom, Bella was swerving the car hard, and I was moving along with it, my head slamming into the side which I was meant to hold onto. I could feel a ringing start in my head, ears searing from this foreign feeling, and I could hear myself grunt and groan, and if this were any other place, I might have even cried.

But Jacob was here. And well... I didn't feel like crying in front of my sworn arch-enemy. He could use that against me, after all.

The truck skidded to an abrupt stop, and doors slammed as the driver and the passenger hopped right out. I used the hand not groping my head to mindlessly palm at the side metal, grabbing it tight as I pulled myself into a slumped position. "Ow..." I groaned. This sucked. I should have fought harder to be in the front seat if Bella's atrocious driving was gonna put my fucking life at risk.

"Alissa, are you okay?" Bella cried, pulling out the trunk door so I wouldn't have to hop off the side. I was tired, however. I didn't feel like getting up and getting out, for whatever the fuck it was that had Bella freaking out. This bullshit was getting to be too much for me; I wasn't sure I'd be able to actively pursue a friendship with someone that didn't know her ass from her elbow when it came to common, everyday sense.

"Does it fucking look like I'm okay?" I snarled at her. I pulled my hand from my head, and I felt even more anger boil deep in me at the sight of _red_ covering my palm. "Fucking hell. Did your mother ever reach you how to properly park a vehicle?!"

Jacob slammed his hand on the truck's side, and I felt the truck move, alongside me and my own body. My head lolled from side to side, a sensation that made me sick when it rattled the piece of me already half-broken. "Don't talk to her like that," he echoed Paul's words from the cafeteria.

"I'll talk to her however I fucking like," I said bitterly, giving him a look that _dared_ him to contradict my words. When he stayed silent, a steady look of disdain on his face, I turned my attention over to the pallid girl beside him. "What the fuck had you stop, anyway?"

Bella's eyes lit up, and her mouth formed an 'o'. "Oh—" She hurried away from the truck, and she near-instantaneously disappeared from sight. Jacob followed suit.

"Aw, fuck," I said, placing my hand back on the side of my head as I scouted my body across the truck's terrain. I felt rocks drag themselves along with my long-ways blouse, most definitely tearing the shirt at its seams, but I didn't regard them with any significance. I could easily buy another blouse, and I could easily schedule my study date with Roxanne another day.

I was too curious to see what Bella failed to mention. Was there another dead hiker on the side of the road?

Gravity pulled me swiftly to the ground, and if I were a cup of water, I would have sloshed my innards out and toppled over. Thankfully, due to a steady pair of legs that belonged to yours truly, I was able to stay standing. I refused to stop and take a breath—I'd live, if this did cost me anything—so I scurried over to the front of the truck, where a pair of assholes were standing, the shorter, less-shapely one pointing at something beyond the crashing waters below the road.

If I squinted, I could see the barest outlines of four boys on the cliff.

Paul.

Sam.

Embry.

Jared.

"That's what worked you up?" I asked furiously, my angry gaze remaining with Jared as two of the boys rough-house and throw him off the cliff. Even from here, you could hear the hooting. I felt wistful about the fun they were having; instead of getting a good day out of the house, I was aching and shivering. "God, you're so fucking stupid."

Bella flushed deeply, looking at me with a guilty face that screamed, " _I know I'm stupid!_ " "I'm sorry—" she started again, but I scoffed. And I was pleased with myself when it made her stop talking. Score one for Team Alissa.

Alissa, 1.

Bella, -5.555555.

Jacob's gaze was more reproachful than it was neutral, which meant the more I insulted and hurt Bella, the more angry he'd get. And well, I didn't appreciate being slung around and sustaining an injury while she was unharmed; if it took one hell of a verbal ass-whooping to bring her down to my level of pain, then well—who was stopping me? The power of Jacob and his mechanic biceps? No-sir-ree-Bob.

"They're not actually fighting," I told Bella, my superiority-complex coming in clutch with the patronizing tone my voice took with her. "They're cliff-diving. I'm sure you know what that is."

Bella flinched. "Cliff-diving... on purpose?"

Jacob jumped in; "Ah, it's scary as hell, but it's a total rush."

An adrenaline rush. We watched as one of the boys—I could tell from here it was Paul, just by the familiar whoops he made as he began to jog faster to the edge—threw himself into the air, then spun off to the water below, twisting and performing cartwheels on the way down. I pursed my lips, then wondered—Wow, could I do that, too? Or was this an ability that was for hotties only.

Jacob nudged Bella in the shoulder. "Most of us jump from lower down."

Bella had a contemplative look on her face. She looked at him hopefully. "Think I could?"

I scoffed. "Are you an adrenaline junkie or something? I mean, Jesus—motorcycles, then cliffs..."

Bella quietly said, "It seems fun."

Jacob rolled his eyes, more for my comments than at Bella's expense. "Maybe on a warmer day. And not from the top. We'll leave the showing off to Sam and his disciples."

There's that bitter edge again. I remembered the dislike he had for Sam and them; sad thing was, Embry had the same dislike for them. And now he was part of their clique. It just didn't feel right. But I couldn't put my finger on a right answer.

Bella frowned at Jacob. "You don't like them."

Another scowl, destination: Jacob's face. "They think they run this place. Acting all badass, calling themselves 'protectors.'"

"What are they protecting?" Bella asked. She seemed confused.

"The tribe, the land, their right to be jerks. Embry used to call them hall monitors on steroids; now look at him." That same look of disdain that Jacob had a habit of giving me was back on his face.

I laughed aloud, bringing the two's attention back to me. "They're not on steroids, dumbass. If that was the case of their little pack, Embry would be a lot broader," I said. I still had my hand on my head, not wanting to risk an onslaught of blood when my eyesight was on the line.

Bella shook her head, but held a determined glint in her eyes. She looked to Jacob— "What happened to him?" she asked.

Jacob looked like he was in pain. "He missed some school - then, out of nowhere, he's following Sam around. Same thing happened with Paul and Jared. They weren't even friends, and now—Sam owns them." Jacob shook his head. "Sam keeps giving me this look, like he's waiting for me or something; it's kinda freaking me out."

Bella suggested, "Maybe you should just avoid him."

Jacob shrugged, before quietly saying, "I try but..." He was staring over at the rowdy two that remained from the once-foursome.

Bella pulled him into a side-hug. It felt very friend-zone-ish. "Hey. If it gets worse, we'll go to my Dad. Or you can come stay with us."

Wow, were they having a moment? Wouldn't it be a shame if—

"Hey, if they do get you, I'm sure you'll be a lot more attractive. You're kind of ugly now. When Paul changed, he went from cute to hella hot. If Sam recruits you, you should be thankful." I grinned.

Jacob shot me a sneer, as Bella jumped back out from Jacob's arms. She saw his anger smack-dab on his face, and quickly pulled on his arm—yanking him towards the truck. The angry look still remained.

I looked back towards the cliff. I could see Sam already looking in my direction. His attention was on Bella's back. With a jolly grin that came with provoking Jacob, I gave the scary-lookin' man a wave.

He waved back. And the wave didn't feel hostile, as I assumed it would be. I didn't know Sam very well, but he knew my heritage, so maybe the friendly gesture was because of Jared.

Regardless, I felt very pleased with myself.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFF

Once I was seated in Bella's truck, able to enjoy front-seat privileges now that I was injured, I told the driver, "Take me back to my house, please." If I was going to bleed all over the place, then I wanted to do in the safety of my own home. Besides, fuck hospitals; I'd rather bleed out and die in the grass than go anywhere near one.

Those were the wrong words to say. Jacob turned and gave me a nasty glare. "What? Why?!"

"Because I'm hurt! Duh!" I pointed at my head, making the mistake to remove my bloody hand from said injury. I hissed; that shit hurt. If I didn't get this looked at, I was definitely risking passing out. Also, I needed a change of clothes. A lot of the blood that leaked from my wound aligned down the left side of my head, and my collar was stained red because of it. How smashingly chic.

Bella looked at me for a moment, that same sorry look on her face, and then she turned on the engine. "Okay," she said quietly. She'd probably jump off a fucking cliff for me just to lessen the guilt.

Jacob spluttered, pointing at me and then at her, before he went completely silent. His arms were crossed, and he had an angry look on his face. He was totally throwing a temper tantrum. What a little baby.

Bella reversed out from the slot of land, then starting driving in the direction we were already going. We didn't get very far, though, before... _someone walked out into the road._

A yelp left Bella's lips, and she came to a sudden stop that had all of us jolting forward. I hit my head again. That was a beautiful consequence that came with not having a seatbelt on. I groaned aloud, murmured a soft, "Fuck," and shook off the pain so I could see who had walked in front of the truck.

Oh, fuck. My eyes went wide with fear.

It was Paul.

_Well, this just got interesting._

FFFFFFFFFFFFF

A/N: I will be counting up votes for whether you want Alissa to shift, so make sure to add your input! :) I hope you guys like the story so far, and it will definitely be getting faster in pace (not that we're going slow or anything haha) since we're now actually in the events of New Moon. If you want Alissa to be friends with Bella, just tell me; otherwise, I'll probably make her enemies with the girl lmao. 

Love y'all! Your reviews and favorites and follows mean the absolute world 2 me :-)


	5. Chapter V: La Push’s Resident Hothead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Alissa get into it.

CHAPTER V: La Push's Resident Hothead

 **It didn't take very long for both** Bella and Jacob to pinpoint the blame on me. After all, Paul's angry, fierce gaze was _burning holes_ into the side of my head—the very side that hurt like a bitch—and the crossed-arm, jutted-out-hip look really just made him seem menacing. Truth be told, if I had my car stopped in the middle of the road by a shirtless, _hella_ -hot bodybuilder, I would probably die. A thousand times. In a thousand different ways. I could be very creative when I wanted to be.

In a good, _on-the-verge-of-literal-death_ way, though. I could tell by the panic in Bella's eyes that she was fearing for her life right about now.

"Go see what he wants, Cameron," Jacob whispered, putting a hand on Bella's shoulder. Of course—go and comfort the one with a perfectly intact scalp, rather than the girl _bleeding the fuck out._

Rather than make a remark about this, I instead centered him with a leveled look of _bliss;_ it had always been a dream of mine for Jacob to get on Paul's bad side. Maybe today was my lucky day. Would he knock a tooth loose like he nearly did Jeremiah? That'd sure be a sight to see. Even though Paul and Jacob were of equal size, Paul had a better fighting background, and it wouldn't take long for the uglier of the two to be flat on his back, crying out for mercy.

I flashed my teeth at Jacob, then looked at Bella. "Why don't you go, Bella? You do have a thing for guys who'll show you attention." I blinked innocently, smiling so wide that my jaw began to ache. It was worth it, though, when a flash of hurt swept by on her face. "Oh, or maybe not. I forget; maybe it was just guys who pretend to care that really get you going."

"Get the hell out and see what he wants," barked a steaming-cold ( _Hot? He wishes!_ ) Jacob. When I glanced over at him, I could see that he was nearly shaking with rage, a look of utter distaste in his eye. He really didn't like me, and I supposed that hurting his little pale-faced girlfriend only strengthened that dislike. "Now."

"Of course, Jake!" I said, faking enthusiasm. "And if he asks—I'll tell him _you_ got my face to look like this. He'll have a fun time making the two of us twinsies. Not like you could get any uglier, though, huh?"

Jacob reached across me and unlatched the door, shoving it open; too caught in my amusement, I lost all reaction time, and this caused me to flail away from the seat. A part of my mind began to flood with self-resentment—no seatbelt, not even a smidgen of sensible judgment; no wonder I was in this predicament, on the brink of a secondary concussion, all because I had seventy-five-percent of my mind too occupied with provoking Jacob to think he might try and kill me!

Well, of course, this self-resentment spent a very brief time in my head, because before I could touch the ground—hands already grasping for some sort of handle or surface to elevate myself from a cold, gritty slab of blacktop— _someone_ saved me from my fate. I was mere inches away from slamming my face into the ground, when strong, muscled arms slithered around my armpits and hauled my torso up vertically. A taste of breathless adrenaline, a feeling I had experienced when first enduring my current head injury, was already set in place, numbing the area that was to experience fatal, future trauma, so now, I didn't feel much of anything. Except a strong sense of anxious butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach.

And that feeling was because—

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Black?!" Paul Lahote snarled. He pulled me up until my feet were touching a flat surface; he pressed in a finger against my shoulder as though asking, "Can you stand?" and when I nodded my head against his shoulder, he fell back, until his heat disappeared completely. And I was left cold and bewildered, experiencing only _half_ of this stare-down, not willing to take a peek at what shadow was casted over Paul's face. "She could have gotten hurt even _worse_ ; are you a fucking idiot?"

"She's fine now, isn't she?" Jacob rolled his eyes, trying not to look scared—but I saw through his _Salty-Spitoon-tough_ persona. It was all in the eyes. He was absolutely terrified. "You caught her—"

"If it was anyone else, she'd be needing a hospital." Paul's tone was dark, angry.

"If it was—yeah, because you're such a _protector._ Get off your high horse, Lahote." Jacob threw Paul a dirty look. Bella was still in the driver's seat, looking between Jacob and Paul with wide, horrified eyes. "It was sheer luck you caught her."

"Yeah, and it'll be sheer luck if I don't punch you in the fucking _face_ for that comment," Paul growled in reply, stepping closer; I felt this, because the tremors of heat got thicker and more vibrant—and when I 'stumbled' back, a move I did to get purposefully closer, like the curious whore I was, I felt him _shaking_. Like he did in the cafeteria, after beating the holy fuck out of Jeremiah.

I decided this was the perfect time to step in.

"Okay, alright— _listen_ , boys." I probably looked like one hell of a sight to see, blood all over one side of my face and neck, like someone out of a freaking _horror_ movie, but this fight needed to stop before it turned from verbal to physical.

I would give a lung and a kidney to see Paul give Jacob a black eye, but while standing back and taking time to really _think_ about it, it occurred to me… this was the _chief's son._ There'd be repercussions between Paul's Dad and Billy if word got around back to them that the two were brawling. And I was sure Bella would immediately run and tell Jacob's Dad, since she had no sense of loyalty to Jacob's assaulter.

I looked between the two still in the vehicle. "How about… you shut the fuck up for once in your life, Jakey-boy, and _you,_ Bella, drive the two of you the fuck away from me." I smiled, fighting a grimace when I felt crusted blood move along with my jaw. I reached back a hand and patted what I thought was Paul's shoulder; turned out, it was his stomach. _Well_. I flushed and my smile turned into a flustered grin. "I'm sure Paul will take me to my Dad. And I'm sure my Dad will _love_ to chew out _your_ dadfor raising his son to be a behemoth."

I looked over at Paul. A part of me was curious how he got here so fast, after he'd been with his friends out by the cliffs, and I also couldn't quite grasp why he wasn't _soaking_ like expected from a dip at the cover. A part of me wondered if the reason why he came here to remove me from Jacob's presence was because Sam had seen me, and noticed the blood—but that could only be held accountable to 40/20 vision. Sam had to be incredibly perceptive to even notice it.

But there was no other reason for Paul being here. And I was flattered and a little bit relieved he came in the place of my brother. I wasn't sure I would have reacted very pleasantly if I had to speak or look at that boy.

Paul didn't return the look. He instead stared at Jacob and Bella, giving both a level expression that could only be described by one word: death. He was scowling. "Watch your back," he warned both, before walking to the woods he'd come running out of just moments before. He gave me a head-check when he saw I wasn't moving, and I hoped for the _life_ of me he didn't see the open-mouthed look I was giving his ass.

The subtle _smirk_ on his face, however, told me that I failed, and I was totally going to hear him gloat about it later.

Sparing both Bella and Jacob a look of similar darkness, equipped with my personal effect of sarcastic glee, I followed after Paul. It didn't take very long before slamming doors were heard; a brief moment, and the truck was rearing its ugly head. I listened to it grow quieter in the distance. The sound made me scowl, so lost in thoughts of anger, that I nearly fell head-first into Paul's back. I stopped, staring at the soft, tan skin with admiration, before the back was whirling around to reveal a stomach, and I was affixing my gaze onto a pair of chocolate eyes a shade darker than mine, filled with… something I couldn't quite place.

There was anger, though. I could feel that the moment he started pacing. "What the hell were you thinking getting into a car with Jacob Black?"

I laced my fingers behind my back. "You know, I asked myself that same question the second they made me sit in the back," I told him truthfully, but he was shaking his head by the middle of my sentence, looking even _more_ enraged. "What do you want me to say, Paul? That I'm an idiot? Okay. Fine. I'm an idiot. Happy now?"

"No, Alissa, I'm just—I don't understand." He looked at me instead of the trees, as he had been doing, seeming frustrated beyond belief. "I thought you hated him."

"I do."

"Then _why?_ " Paul approached me as he said it. He gently reached his fingers forward, looking at me for permission, and only groping—with soft, thoughtful fingers—at the inflicted area when I sent him a nod. He looked pained just by looking at it, which confused me; if it were me in his situation, I'd be grimacing, disgusted by whatever gory gash I was seeing.

Whatever stupid, snarky remark I was planning to make as to _why_ I let myself get in that truck… it became lost the moment I met Paul's eyes. I felt myself grow hot and unsteady, speechless without being speechless, and the look of anticipation—wait, anticipation? —was what snapped me out of my daze. I was breathless, tongue stripped of moisture, but I could _speak_. "I was…" How could I tell him I lied to everyone—that I was desperate for friends? I only had my father, and Kallie, and both were almost constantly busy. I had no one, and if I had to endure Jacob just for someone to actually _talk_ to, I was going to risk it. I didn't expect any of this shit to happen.

"What? You were what?" Paul didn't look away from my eyes, which only made this harder. It was like he could see right through me, like I was nothing but thin, thin thread. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. Rather, I felt airy. Like I was floating. But I didn't want Paul Lahote, of _all_ people, to be the one causing me to feel this way.

Jared combated any source of happiness that came my way, and though he called it protection, I knew what it _really_ was: bullshit.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," I said finally. At Paul's outraged look, I elaborated—"Maybe I just felt like arguing with someone today. You know how I am—always talking. Blah, blah, blah; right? That's me. Loud-mouth Cameron." Even to me, I sounded half-broken. Was a circuit loose? Was I losing my mind? Maybe the hit I took did more than open a flesh wound.

Paul nearly snarled at the words, tearing his hand away from my head. I grew alarmed, watching him as he turned to face the trees, his body shaking like the anger was trying to escape him. I could see tremors wrack up and down his spine, going from one spinal cavity to the next, traveling up until they latched onto his neck. I stared, counting the tremors, for maybe a straight thirty-seconds before it was occurring to me; he needed something to calm him down.

Throwing a stick wouldn't catch his attention and keep it until the rage sputtered from his body. I needed to act fast.

"Paul," I called, walking hurriedly over to him. He held out a hand, silently telling me to _back off._ He had his other hand grasping at his face, like groping his temple would heal the aching and put a stapled soothing in its place. It wouldn't work. Self-sacrifice always required a bit of pain to scare the anger away, and he wasn't doing that; he needed a physical helping hand. I didn't know what I was doing before it was too late to back down.

I threw away any sense of self-survival—maybe he needed _my_ sacrifice—and embraced the volatile, trembling Paul Lahote in a hug.

At first, it did nothing. Only flustered me to the point I felt like the world was spinning. He continued to shake, my own body falling into a steady rhythm alongside his. But then I felt a steady drop. Slow, and soft, like faltering footsteps, his body began to mollify, as though the feeling of flesh-against-flesh did more than add unwanted hindrances. Paul went from shuddering to still, his torso only moving as he breathed, and I heard his heartbeat through his tight, muscled chest. It went from rapid to human.

It was about this time that Paul decided it appropriate to hug me back.

"Okay, um," I said, after a nice, long moment of reveling in Paul's embrace, something I totally wasn't supposed to do, "you're good now, right?"

Paul didn't remove his arms, like I expected him to. He only tightened them around me. "Oh, very good."

 _This day just got even more ridiculous._ "If you're good… you can unhand me now."

"Oh, so this wasn't just a ploy to get your hands on me?" Paul's voice was teasing. It made me want to throw a shoe at him. "Damn."

"Listen, buddy, I'm _this_ close to shoving my shoe up your—"

Paul removed an arm, using the free hand to cup it around my mouth. Darn, he stopped me from finishing my threat. "You've got a mouth on you," he said, tilting his head down so he could actually see me. Gosh, he was so _tall._ "You know that, right?"

"And _you_ don't?" I laughed. I remembered how brusque he was in speech against Jacob and Bella, and the irony of our situation nearly made me double over. "You're _literally_ ten times worse than me."

Paul rolled his eyes, taking away his other arm. It gave me room to finally breathe, my body immediately taking about five steps back to experience _freedom_ from Paul's insufferable body-heat. Seriously, though—why was he so hot? And I meant that in both contexts. There was literally no reason for someone to be so feverishly hot and physically attractive. Especially not at the same time.

That was just downright unfair—and probably illegal.

The asshole gave me a long, unreadable look. "I guess we both have shit we need to work on."

I rolled my eyes. "Your list of problems is much bigger than mine, bucko. Now, c'mon—tell me where we're heading. Before you get into another one of your monologues on why I'm an idiot."

Paul scoffed. "We're going to Sue's. She's a nurse. She can fix your head."

"Sue… as in… Sue Clearwater?" At Paul's expression, I pursed my lips. "I thought you were going to take me to my Dad's."

"That was your suggestion. Not mine."

"Well, I like mine better."

Paul laughed. Like there was something funny. At the look of annoyance I shot him, his laugh crumbled, until it cut off completely. "Your dad works in the archives. What the fuck does he know about head trauma?"

I smiled. "Exactly! He'd just slap a band-aid on it and send me on my way. That way I don't have to go through all that social mumbo-jumbo that goes along with… well, Sue and her family." I knew that I sounded stupid, but honestly—I didn't feel like going near anyone else today. Paul was enough of a nuisance for my nerves—and I meant that in the best way possible, because good lord, that boy was built by the gods—and from all the times Dad dragged me out to eat with Sue and her family, I learned a few things.

Harry was the ultimate Cool Dad, and I felt a bit jealous that I was given the Nerd Dad.

Seth was a bundle of jitters, and didn't know what calming down was. He never sat still.

Leah was brash, and too much talking made her get this _look_ on her face, like she wanted to carve out your jugular and stretch it around her neck like a trophy.

And Sue. Well, Sue was a happy bowl of sunshine, and could brighten anyone's day.

And all four, in one tiny package… It was a wonder how their family dinners didn't end in constant disaster.

"Can I please go home, Paul?"

"No."

"Pleaaaaase?"

"Stop giving me that look," Paul said, scowling at me. The scowl was a lot more half-hearted than what it looked like directed towards his greatest enemies. "It…"

"Does it make you want to give in?" I said excitedly.

"Yes."

"Great! I'll keep doing it then."

Paul rolled his eyes, then started walking towards me. When I saw his hand turn into grabby-grabby gestures, I grew wide-eyed—and started backing up.

"Paul, wait, Paul—ack!" Without any sort of warning—aside from him walking towards me like a fucking serial killer—he picked me up, and threw me over his shoulder. My hair was falling all around my head like a halo. It made me feel a bit nauseous, and I wished for a weaker immune system so I could either pass out or throw up all over Paul's back. "This is harassment, I hope you know. Put me down! I'll sick Kallie on you."

Paul didn't listen. He started walking in the direction we were already going in the first place. He perked up at the last sentence, though. "About that—Embry wanted me to ask if you had her number."

Asshole! Of course he'd ignore the more _important_ part of my whines in favor of his little buddy's crush. Wait—crush. This was wonderful news! Embry—with Kallie? Kallie's greatest dream… Wait, Paul was trying to distract me, wasn't he? The greatest ploy of an evil genius.

"I refuse to give you anything until you put me down!"

"Not gonna happen, sweetheart," Paul said in reply, and the way his body vibrated really made me want to throttle him. "In the meantime—let's talk about how your ass looks from this angle. Almost as good as mine back there, right?"

What a dick _._ Using every little thing I did against me! This was going to be a long walk.

At least I didn't have to use my feet.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFF

_A/N: OMG, so sorry if this is rushed. But ayeeeee—lots of Paul in this chapter. I'm so excited to dive into his and Alissa's relationship since they're so alike; it's gonna make for interesting character development in both._

_I'll be back next week. :D_


	6. Chapter VI: 'Tis but a Scratch [Prt. I]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for this year's annual check-up with Sue Clearwater!

**“ARE WE THERE YET?”** I asked for what seemed like the fifteenth time, blood so rushed to my head that it felt like even my vision was fiery pink. After walking for miles on end, it had come to my attention that I didn’t feel so good. So for the past five minutes, I would ask Paul if we had finally arrived at our destination anytime a headache formed at the temples—which seemed just about every itty-bitty millisecond. And his answer was always the same—

          “No. Now quit asking me that. It’s getting annoying,” Paul replied. Though he claimed I was being annoying, he didn’t _sound_ that way. Actually, if I had to put a finger on whatever flitting tone I was hearing, I’d say he was amused. Of course he’d find this funny; me, hanging like a limp noodle over his backside, voice muffled by his muscled skin, words childish and whiney, and him, big bad Paul Lahote, strolling down the merry, muddy path that led to God-knows-where. Who was winning? Certainly not me.

          Losing was _not_ a wanted check on my resume. I scowled, trying to pronounce it enough that it’d feel like a ticklish kiss on Paul’s back. “If there’s bears running amuck, they’re gonna smell the blood,” I told him, voice a bit too posh for someone on this part of the globe. “And I don’t think your frown is good enough to scare off a big, fuzzy, blood-hungry _bear._ ”

          Paul laughed. Actually _laughed._ Like he found the thought of a bear being able to harm him implausible. “Don’t worry, Lissy. I’ll keep you safe.”

          _Just because you’re tall and muscly and drop-dead-gorgeous doesn’t mean—wait, what am I saying? God, I’m getting delirious or something. Sure, he’s hot and has a really nice voice, and he actually respects you unlike the rest of the boys from school—but—_ I let out an inaudible groan. This whole internal conflict was really taking a toll on my body, and it was a fight between rationality and hormones whether I wanted to let myself fall under Paul Lahote’s spell. Could I endure the consequences?

“You’ve gone quiet,” said Paul musingly. “Didn’t think I’d see the day where you’d go speechless.”

          On second thought, I’d better leave him to the bears as a potential mate. _Who needs a SO? Not independent persons such as I._ “ _Obviously_ I’m thinkin’, meat-for-brains,” I said, punching my fist against his back. It did nothing except cause my knuckles to hurt something awful, but it was the thought that counted. “Something it must take a lobe and a half for you to accomplish.”

          Paul laughed again. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

          “If you value your brain, then yes. If you don’t care, then no,” I told him, matter-of-factly. “Judging that you asked, I guess that means you don’t care.” So much for a witty comeback, if the person being verbally assaulted could barely tell the difference between a compliment and an insult.

          There was a pinch of silence, then _another_ laugh. “I just think it’s cute when you get all worked up,” Paul said to me. Without even being able to see him, I could hear the smirk in his voice. Again, I felt this intense, fervent desire to shove my _shoe_ up his ass. “Too bad I can’t see your face. It’s even more adorable when you blush.”

          “I’m going to tell Jared how you’ve harassed me. He’s a dick, but he’ll still kick anyone’s ass if I ask him to,” I spat, _blushing_ , like the infuriatingly flustered idiot I was. “It’s part of that whole brotherly oath he took the minute I was born, ya know.”

          Paul, like a _proper_ gentleman, burst into another, longer-lasting spurt of laughter, like I just said the funniest thing in the world. He was obviously imagining Jared swinging at him, and how fast he’d dodge and weave, only to throw one back… twice as hard. If there was anything Paul was good at, besides being ruggedly handsome, it was fighting. “You think… you _really_ think Jared could win in a fight against me?”

          “I realize the flaws in my plan,” I said truthfully. “But when you think about it, if he’s angry enough, he could get a few punches in. Remember William?”

          Paul stopped walking. I could feel a strong tension in his shoulders form, like a shadowed memory was coming to life inside of his organs, and if it was what I was thinking—then oh yeah, the dark look of death was eminent as it loomed. The memory was funny to look back on, three years later… even though I was sure that somewhere, out there, the thought sent shudders of _fear_ down William Holton’s back.

          If I wasn’t paying absolute attention to Paul, I wouldn’t have noticed the subtle shaking in his shoulders. Like vibrating waves. “That fucker got what he deserved,” growled Paul, sounding more animal than human. “I wish he still went to La Push so I could get my share of blood.”

          I blinked owlishly against his back. “Jesus _fuck_ , Paul,” I said. “Take a chill pill, will you? Not everything has to be handled with _violence._ ”

          Paul didn’t answer. He just continued to walk. Though, much more briskly this time around; he was seething, rendered speechless by his own rage, and I was sure his mind was plagued with thoughts of William, Jared, and fighting.

          Minutes passed. We still weren’t there. I had resorted to propping an elbow against Paul’s back and watching the muck go past in a blur of browns and greens, and though I was jumping at the bone with an eagerness to ask when we’d get to Sue’s, I knew it wouldn’t be smart to prod at the bear when he was in such a state of unrest.

          Paul fought a lot of battles, whether mental or physical, and he didn’t like to talk about it often, if at all. He wasn’t much of a talker anyway, only opening his mouth to shout, flirt, or say something droll. His anger spoke volumes of the kind of person he was. There was a layer of character that neither I or Jared had ever taken the time to unravel, a whole other person hidden beneath years of internalizing.  

          I wondered how long it would— _could_ —take to figure him out. I wondered if that was even _possible._

          _If it takes weeks, months, or years, I’ll know you, Paul,_ I swore against the back of a stranger dressed in the skin of someone familiar. _I promise it._

          -

          **“You really** did a number on your head, hun,” Sue Clearwater said, in that soft-spoken, kind voice of hers, patting a pad of cotton against my temple. “What happened?”

          Knowing just what look would be on her face, I laughed, my shoulders shaking in their futile attempt to remain still. The laugh soon became a hiss when the cotton pad slid against the open, bleeding wound on my head, an accident I’d be angry about if it wasn’t for Sue’s gentle, caring face. “Well, uh… I was sitting in the back of a truck. The driver turned a bit too fast, and I hit the side metal. It stopped bleeding after about twenty minutes, but not before…” I gestured to my blouse, still soaked in red. “Do you know any home remedies for removing blood stains, by any chance?”

          Sue shook her head, maternal concern wrinkling the lines on her face. “Alissa, why were you in the back of a truck? Especially in this weather. What if it had started raining—if this driver of yours had wrecked, you would be dead—”

          From the side of me, there was a growl. A very _animalistic_ growl. _I have my very own guard dog,_ I thought derisively, unable to resist a quip, even though it wasn’t spoken aloud. I turned over to Paul to give him my signature _look,_ befit with disapproval and irritation. “Calm it, Pluto,” I said, waggling my finger at him. “You’re only allowed to growl at Jeremiah, William, Jacob, and Bella. This is the Clearwater household, and you will respect it. Capiche?”

          The look on Paul’s face was… deadpan. I bet he wasn’t expecting for Sissy-Lissy Cameron to be ordering him around. However, before I knew it, a smirk was twitching at his lips and Paul looked _amused._ I could imagine his thoughts: _Does this little girl really think she can tell me what to do? Hah. We’ll humor her._ “Okay, Lissy,” he told me, now wearing a full-blown smile.

          Oh, was he finally listening? Being a good little (or not so little) dog? I began to smirk, pleased to know I had an effect on him, and he would actually listen to me—but then—

          “But only if you _beg_.”

          _Oh my gosh, he didn’t just say that. Not in front of Sue! What the heck is wrong with you, Paul?!_ I reddened deeply, eyes widening to the point I felt they were going to come flying out of their sockets. A picture of humiliation, I slowly turned to look at Sue. Her expression was unreadable, eyes flickering between me and Paul, like she was seeing something _clearly_ for the first time. She didn’t look mortified, like most parents would—something I had to applaud her for, considering my dad couldn’t even look at pink capris without blushing—but she did look surprised.

          Sue coughed, but smiled anyway. Her smile didn’t look _forced_ , per se, but did look a little too wide for a jaw of her caliber. “I think it was more a flesh wound than anything,” she told me. “If you start to get dizzy, or have issues with your vision, just call me. It’s not a concussion, but we should still take precaution.” She smiled. “Try to avoid any more run-ins with danger, okay?”

          I tried biting my lip, tried keeping a hand over my mouth, but the overwhelming desire to speak couldn’t be quelled by any physical motions. Putting on my best posh accent, I said, “’Tis but a scratch. It’s just a flesh wound.” I kicked out a leg, just for the hell of it—and fought a giggle when it came in contact with Paul’s leg. Sue was watching the encounter—from my wide smile to Paul’s not-so-menacing glower—with a look of wonder. I felt embarrassed, but pushed the feeling aside. “Thanks for cleaning me up. I bet I look badass, with all this gauze on my head.”     

          Sue laughed, raising from her crouch in front of me. She offered up a hand to help me stand. “Oh, you do. I’m shaking in my boots,” she said teasingly. “Try not to give Harry a heart attack when you pass through the kitchen.”

          My smile became all teeth, and I raised a hand to salute her. “Weaponless tis thee, so there shalt be a threat, not in the home of a hunter,” I said. Ignoring the humored looks on both Sue and Paul’s faces, I pulled Sue into a large embrace. She stiffened, like the hug came as a surprise, but I ignored it in favor of tightening my arms around her. Sue slowly slithered her own around my waist, returning the hug with equal fervor. “Thanks, Sue. I appreciate the help.”

          “Oh, honey, you’re welcome. Do us all a favor and stay out of trouble, alright? You know how worked up your father gets when you’re hurt.”

          I grimaced. Yes, I _did_ know how my dad got whenever Jared or I got injured—but especially me. I couldn’t tell whether it was because I was the runt of the family, or because I was a girl, but Dad had a… special way of reacting anytime I wasn’t perfectly okay. Like the time I broke my arm during a track and field competition, and he literally _cried_ at the hospital because I winced whenever he came running in and hugged me. Or the time I got the flu, and he catered to me on hand and knee because I hadn’t got my flu shot that year and he thought I was going to die.

          Yeah, Dad was a bit crazy when it came to his children. And I dreaded what he’d say when he got a load of what my head looked like at the moment.

          “Your dad is literally going to die when he sees your head,” Paul whispered to me. He had a hand on my back as we trekked out of Sue’s living room and into the kitchen, apparently not trusting me to walk on my own. Who could blame him? I was one overly-strenuous activity away from passing the fuck out. “Jared, too, if he’s there.”

          “Fuck Jared,” I cursed, giving Paul the side-eye. Why did he have to bring up that loser? And we were having such a good time… “And Dad can handle it. It’s patched up, I’m not dying—no concussion, just blood. Wait. The blood! Oh _god_ , he’s gonna die, Paul, when he sees all this blood. How did I not pass out? Aw, geez—”

          When we passed Harry sitting at the dining table, Paul gave him a nod while I smiled politely. Harry returned Paul’s nod, and gave me a knowing grin, one that made me want to stop in my tracks; what the heck was with all these looks, like people knew shit I didn’t? I wanted to stick out my tongue, like the obnoxious child I was, for looking at me like that, though maybe… just _maybe…_ people were starting to clue in on my slowly-enlarging crush on Paul Lahote. Was that what the looks were for?

          I wanted to groan. I wanted to _die._ If people recognized my blushes, smiles, and wit for what they truly were, physical pieces specially made for Paul, then I was a goner. What if someone _told_ him?

          _Note to self: don’t let Jared find out about this,_ I thought viciously, letting Paul lead me through the door, back out into the open.

          Paul was smirking as we made it out onto the gravel driveway. “We can stop by my house and get you a shirt, if you’re really that worried,” he said suggestively. “It’s on the way to your dad’s.”

          “Totally _laughing out loud_ right about now,” I said. My smile was long gone, and in its place was a poker-face. “Sometimes I really wanna punch you, Paul. I mean, seriously. Why are you like this?”

          “I was just offering a friendly suggestion.”

          “You mean a _suggestive_ suggestion. Like, you’re hot and all, but under no circumstances are you getting sexual favors from me,” I said, saying it real fast, like I didn’t know what I was actually saying until I said it. And let’s be honest, that’s what I did. I widened my eyes, looking at Paul with regret. “I mean… fuck.”

          Paul’s smirk was so big, it could barely fit his face. I was ashamed to admit my eyes were following his lips; if I was reaching the time of my downfall, then I might as well just _go_ with it, huh? “Let’s get you home, Lissy.”

          “Okay, uh, yeah… let’s, uh, go.” What I really wanted to say was, “Fuck my life,” and by saying it, I meant shouting it, and by shouting it, I meant _screaming_ it.

          _Fuck my life, indeed._


	7. Chapter VI: 'Tis but a Scratch [Prt. 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please don't freak out, Alissa's Dad.

**THE MINUTE WE FINISHED APPROACHING** the porch to my house, I turned to Paul, the look on my face best described as seriously serious. I propped a hand on my hip, jutted it out, and pursed my lips in the formation of a stern frown.

          If I wanted to fit the persona I was going for, I needed to go _all out_ for it.

          “Listen here, mister,” I started, head and body tilting as I got grouchier and grouchier; “Ima say it, and only say it once; you’re not allowed to speak. I’m going to be grounded until dinosaurs walk the Earth again. You know what that means? Huh?” I decided _screw it_ and went from menacing-grandma to frustrated-child, my arms going flying up in despair. “ _No more lasagna nights at Kallie’s!_ ”

          Paul laughed. After my heartfelt monologue, he had the audacity to _laugh._ Though, maybe this meant my monologue was less a tedious speech, and more a laughably serious rant; seemed like _all_ my sides of a conversation ended in someone laughing. Looking amused, and like he was trying his best to contain further spurts of laughter, the asshole shook his head—and said smilingly, “You could always have lasagna with your dad and Jared. Doesn’t he cook as a hobby?”

          “The day I eat at the same table as Jared is _never._ You couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to endure _that_ living tragedy,” I spat, not realizing _just_ who was walking up to the porch that very moment.

          “Uh—I take offense to that.” _Speak of the fucking devil, and he appears!_ What kind of sick irony was this? When I twisted my head over my shoulder to glower at the _known_ interrupter of mine and Paul’s chat, I felt a sudden chill go down my body. _That’s weird. What’s with the ice?_ There was no wind. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

          “I literally despise your existence. Everything about you makes me want to hurl,” I said, in such a matter-of-fact tone that I was _sure_ the words fermented in his bones. “What’s new? I just _love_ having a dickhead for a brother. Reminds me of a better time. When I was, you know, _not born yet.”_

Jared blinked. He was dressed down—as he usually was, when he didn’t have to be at school—and the only thing giving him the slightest bit of decency was his shorts. Even then, he looked like the reject of an Abercrombie modeling poster. No shoes, no shirt—no service, I should have said. Should have made it clear I didn’t want to talk to him. However, I completely ruined that sentiment by thinking it was a good idea to _rant_ at him. Fuck, maybe _I_ was the reject. He pointed at the bandages aligning my hairline. “What happened to your head?”

          From my side, Paul growled. I couldn’t tell whether it was because he didn’t like being reminded that I almost died, or because he was annoyed with the direction this talk was going. Maybe he didn’t like that we’d been interrupted by my brother. The latter option was just my crush talking, though. “Bella Swan and Jacob Black happened,” he told Jared.

          Jared’s eyebrows drew together. He looked intrigued. “Wait—leech lover? And the chief’s son?”

          _What the ever-living fuck is a leech lover? Does she like being sucked on? Is that her kink? OH MY GOD HAS SHE FUCKED JARED – WHAT THE HELL IS KIM GOING TO SAY OMG –_ “Jared, oh my god. Don’t tell me… Hell on Wheels spread her _legs_ for you…”

          There was a long, _awkward_ period of silence. In which, both Paul and Jared stared at me dubiously—Jared’s face repulsed, and Paul’s full of dawning amusement. It was around this time that Paul began to howl with laughter, and Jared put a hand over his face, groaning loudly.

          “No—fuck no. I would _never—_ you really think I would do that to Kim?” Jared gave a shudder. “Jesus Christ.”

          “Then how do you know—” It occurred to me, then, that maybe I was reading into things. Maybe it was an inside joke? Maybe Jacob made an offhand comment at school, and the boys overheard? There was a chance… that leech-lover meant something totally different than my own, race-heavy thoughts. I flushed with embarrassment, acknowledging the high level of stupidity I was radiating, and muttered, “I mean, uh—never mind.”

          Even though I was ready to backtrack, and pretend I never implied Jared to have screwed Bella, Paul wasn’t quite ready to toss the conversational direction away. When I glanced at him, he was just beginning to grin— “Tell us _all_ about it, man. Did you draw blood? I heard she likes biters.”

          Jared… there was no words for the amount of disgust in his face. “Oh, _fuck_ _off_ ,” he said. He sounded completely fed up with Paul’s antics. And though I was embarrassed for jumping to conclusions, I couldn’t fight a smile at how uncomfortable Jared looked. “I’m just— _see you inside.”_ He pushed past Paul, knocking against his shoulder in an angry, _fuck-you-for-being-an-asshole_ way, and unfortunately for their friendship, Paul didn’t look the least bit guilty.

          _Oh well._ I turned to Paul, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Ready to face the herd? It’ll be a sure show-stopper when Dad decides rattling me senseless will make the blood disappear.”

          Paul, already smirking, smiled instead, tossing his arm around my shoulder. _Interesting development,_ I thought, threateningly holding a poker stick at my mushed-and-gushed heart as it decided I should _blush_ in response, _but we’re not dating, jerk-face!_ When I went to shrug off his arm, it didn’t budge. Only when he began to lead me up the porch steps did I realize… _I wasn’t even trying to escape the situation._

          Dad was already standing at the kitchen entrance, wearing an apron that said, “This is what a really cool DAD looks like.” His expression was confused, like an offhand comment from Jared had sent his head running, but it turned to full-blown horror when he saw the gauze around my head. “Oh, my God—Alissa, are you alright? Where does it hurt? Do you have a concussion?”

          _Where was the studious, awkward, easily-embarrassed father who raised me? What was this crazy, overprotective creature standing in front of me?_ I smiled sheepishly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” I told him honestly, knowing it might calm him a little bit, if I confirmed that I was not dying anytime soon. “And I don’t have a concussion. It just _bled_ a lot—”

          “Alissa,” Dad said, inching closer. Before I could ward him off, or tell him _No, Dad, stop,_ he was ripping me out of Paul’s arms and hugging me to him tightly. _Circulation… cut off. Breathing… not happening. Fuck. Dad, what the hell?_ “I shouldn’t have let you go anywhere near Billy Black’s devil son… This is all my fault. I’m sorry, Alissa.”

          I patted him comfortingly, to the best of my ability. “It’s alright, Dad. I swear. I’m not dead. It’s not your fault, okay?”

          Dad sighed. For a moment, I thought he was just going to continue holding me, until his mind could settle its irrational thoughts and he could firmly think, _My daughter’s okay._ But fortunately, he was a lot calmer today than his usual freak-the-hell-out routine; he retracted his arms, and took only a few steps back. For the next minute, he gave me repeated once-overs, checking my body for additional injuries, eyes _always_ going back to that gosh-darn head injury. He sneered, then lowered his gaze. “ _Billy Black raised a goddamn heathen_ ,” he growled, so quiet I barely caught it. “Does he discipline that child of his?”

          Paul hovered behind me, like my very own guardian angel. “I could discipline him for you, Mr. Cameron,” he said. Even though I couldn’t see his face, I knew he was grinning that devilishly-innocent grin of his, the one he used on _adults_ to get out of trouble. “If it’s off school grounds, I won’t get expelled.”

          Dad looked very against the idea at first, but the more he stared at Paul, the more intrigued his expression got. “I couldn’t ask that of you, Paul,” he said.

          “Are you seriously considering having someone beat up a kid?” I asked, dumbfounded, not expecting my _dad,_ of all people, to be thinking along those lines. “Dad… Billy would literally grow functioning legs, and hand your ass to you, if he found out about that.”

          Dad sniffed. “You could have been killed, Alissa, if what your brother was saying is true,” he said. From his tone, I gathered that _he_ couldn’t believe that _I_ wasn’t undergoing the same feelings of bitterness and anger. “After your mother died, I was a wreck. I couldn’t function. If the same happened to you—” He fell silent, a pained look on his face.

          I wasn’t used to my father being angry. After all, his anger was like dynamite—it brewed in silence, then ignited, then snapped. I had never laid witness to him in his occasional spurts of rage; I was only there for the frustration, the fear, the disparagement. I could only overhear from firsthand witnesses what it was like, and even they were scarce. If Dad was angry, he usually confined his outbursts to the safety of a four-walled room, the door locked and pedestrian-void.      

          This was strange. While he wasn’t enacting his inner turmoil—not throwing things or throwing _punches,_ like Paul had a knack for doing—you could see the strain in his wrinkles, the way he was choking down words and gripping his fists tight. What was even more peculiar was the lack of overreaction towards my injury. Instead of exaggerating the extent, all that had registered in his mind was that _Jacob Black_ had a part in this mishandling.

          Maybe it was an excuse for Dad to go to war with Billy Black, but whatever the case, it was clear as day that this was the _final_ straw for Dad’s thin neutrality toward his lifelong nemesis’s son. What came next for Dad and Billy’s battle plans was unclear, but I knew Dad would be including Jacob for his next few _pranks._

          “Listen, Dad, Jacob’s a scumbag— _yes_ , this is true—but beating him up isn’t the answer,” I said. It was an ironic statement. For the better part of sixteen years, I had proved myself to be the _chaotic_ one of the family; Dad was the cynical one, and Jared was always the peacekeeper. Now roles were reversing, and I didn’t really _like_ it as much as it _relieved_ me. One could only go for so long being stressed before it became tiresome. “I vote that we let him go about his life.”

          Dad scrunched up his nose, like there was something foul and unappetizing in front of him, and shook his head. “If you’re adamant on leaving him in one piece, I’ll take a complaint to the tribe. Billy _is_ going to discipline his son, one way or another.” 

          I pieced a single thought together in my mind… Dad was _not_ going to stand down. Loosing a sigh, I let my eyes roll to the back of my head. “Dad, go back to your books,” I told him, not unkindly. “Jacob’ll get what’s coming to him, alright?”

          Paul cracked his knuckles from behind me, causing me to jump. I had forgotten there was company, too locked in my busying task at calming Dad’s anger. Even _more_ shocking, he put a hand on my arm, near my collar bone, heat _seeping_ through the sleeve of my blouse—but I didn’t have much to complain about. Quite the contrary, I liked the feeling of him touching me, and I liked the thought of him being my very own personal heater. Was that selfish?

          “I’ll talk to him at school,” Paul vowed, voice just a touch from my ears. The words vibrated from his hand against my arm.

          The worry in Dad’s face seemed to wither away at the sound of Paul’s offering for confrontation. In its place came relief. “Thank you, Paul,” he said, _gratefulness_ in his tone; “Make sure you let him know I’ll be watching for further… incidents. I don’t appreciate anyone bringing my daughter harm.”

          “I can fight my own battles!” I cried, unable to handle it anymore. I mean—what the fuck? They were talking like they were outlining a war blueprint, making battle plans—all while I was still _here_ , standing and listening. “Listen, alright—I don’t have a concussion. The wound just bled a lot. And yeah, Jacob likes to antagonize me, and he calls me names occasionally—but he’s a teenage boy. What can you expect?”

          Paul barked out a disbelieving laugh. “I’m a teenage boy, but you don’t see _me_ doing any of that…” he muttered. When I twisted my head to shoot him a glare, he was smiling, perfectly pleased with himself. Seeing the look on my face, his smile only widened. “He’s a dick.”

          I sighed. “How about we just… save the confrontation—don’t give me that look, Paul—and do a prank, or something, instead? I really don’t want to get involved, but… a prank is a lot less evil than _threatening_ or _pummeling_ him.”

          Dad blinked. “I’m meant to be the rational one,” he said, looking impressed. I supposed in that twistedly analytical head of his, he found my change in character to be something of _praise_.

          “You are. I’m just tired,” I explained, then straightened out my face to be stern, emotionless. “Alright, soldiers. We’ve gotta come up with a prank so spectacularly spectacular that Jacob will tuck tail and _run._ Any ideas?”

          Silence. Not even a cricket chirping. The only sound was a muffled screaming coming from upstairs—undoubtedly some show Jared was entertaining himself with. Dad’s glasses were slipping off the bridge of his nose as he stared blankly in my direction, and Paul just _shrugged,_ when I stared at him.

          I sighed. “Ugh. You guys are hopeless.”       

          With a text sent to Kallie asking for her immediate assistance, and a few sheets of notebook paper later, we were ready to get this show on the road.

          And certainly, Jacob wouldn’t know what hit him.


	8. Chapter VIII: Let's Go for a Joy Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations, detention, & freak-outs.

CHAPTER VII: LET’S TAKE A JOY RIDE

  
          **COME MONDAY MORNING, I** **WAS** exhausted. Near incapacitated from brainstorms and never-ending preparations for a prank that was decidedly less impactful than all of Jacob Black’s actions tied into one, it was a no-brainer for me to decide it was a good idea that I _skip school_ for the day. I knew what was in-store for me, if I were to attend a Monday-inclusive store of daily doings: Mrs. Johnson’s grainy, unforgiving lectures on being prompt; art class consisting of me expressing myself and Mr. Meadows calling upon me for a “surprise” counseling session; Jacob Black being a bitch to me in third period, and me having to resort to cordial ways of telling him to “fuck off”; the library still being closed for cleaning, and me condemned to sitting with fiends in the cafeteria; my free period haunted by the existence of Jared Cameron as our overly-observant study hall advisor; and best of all, my evening after classes made the most they could be in detention.

          Oh yes, I could already feel myself _aching_ with _longing_. Who was Alissa Cameron without her daily dose of detentions and disappointing adults? Saturdays and Sundays felt barren, spent lifeless among linen bedsheets and ignoring the rising stacks of homework on a nearby desktop. Of course, sleep could always be added to the equation that _made_ Alissa Cameron who she was, but sleep (not so much a habit as it was a necessity) wasn’t a very _unique_ characteristic to add onto a checklist of things that made me _…_ well _, me._

To anyone who knew me, it wasn’t much a surprise to find me still holed up in my room, long after Jared had left in his girlfriend’s car. I had felt my body drain of energy the longer I stayed in bed that morning. I watched the minute hand tick by on my clock, faster than it had ever been during morning classes; 7 am gone, then 8 am gone, then 9 am gone, then 10 am gone. Before I knew it, it was 11 am—third period. The same hour I had with…

          A shudder of relief went through me, then, knowing that at least for today, I was safe from Jacob Black’s torment. Snuggled up in a comforter far too thin for a brisk, cold day like today. Bare-faced and alone in the house, my father gone to the archives and Jared to be away for the unforeseeable future. Knowing him, he wouldn’t be home until midnight. And knowing Dad, he wouldn’t be home until 2 in the morning.

          What a lovely, mysterious family I was blessed with. It just made me _so_ happy to know if they had a single secret, they’d run to me and spill their entire guts just so I’d know they trusted and respected me. _Truly_ —I was blessed.

          Bleh. Fucking assholes. It annoyed me to no end, the amount of secrecy running amuck in this place.

          My father—I knew he’d eventually care to tell me about everything there was to know about his work and what it was he did. With Jared, I no longer held hope we could rekindle; we hadn’t been close since the start of last semester, when he ditched me indefinitely and got Paul to follow a similar routine. I doubted any sort of truce could or would be called between us. It became common, the lack of love and trust we held for one-another. It started slow, like a shallow wave, but grew bigger and bigger the more he snapped at me, the more he blew me off. Before I knew it—before I could find some sort of sheet metal to shield myself—it became tumultuous, and a tidal wave crashed over me. All these doubts reached a crescendo-like high.

          I was naïve, for a while. I thought Jared was just busy with schoolwork and extracurriculars, even though I knew damn well that he was with Paul doing God-knows-what anytime I found something for us to do. I asked him to go to the movies; he declined, said he had a project in history, and went to the beach with Paul instead. I asked if he wanted to play some soccer; he said no, claimed he was going to look for a job to pay for a car, and didn’t look the least bit apologetic when I found him later, playing video games in the living room. _With Paul._

Soon, he became angry. He no longer tried to hide his trail, no matter the sloppy job he was doing already. He started getting hateful anytime I asked. He stopped treating me like his sister. He started treating me like the ugly, outcasted girl who kept thinking she had a chance with the handsome, popular jock. Like I was _nothing_ but a nuisance.

         

* * *

 

          _“Jared!” I called out, running up to him from the coastline. I had been out walking and collecting shells when I saw him, strolling down from the car lot with Paul beside him. I remembered him saying he was going to work on his speech for Miss Grigsby’s literature class. It confused me to see him here, looking relaxed and bother-free. Though, it didn’t deter me from wanting to say hi; after all, what if he finished early and sought out a way to spend his downtime? “Jared, oh my gosh—look at the shells I found—”_

 _Paul was looking at me with a small, grimace-like frown on his face. But Jared—he looked horrified, like a man watching a monster inch closer and closer, before his face melted into a smile. But I could read him easily; it was forced. “Oh, hey, Lissy,” Jared said, raising an arm behind his shoulder and scratching at his neck. It was his telltale sign for being nervous._ For hiding something. _“Those are pretty. I didn’t know you were still coming.”_

_When he looked at Paul, all he got was a shrug in response._

_I smiled. “Yeah, Kallie was going to come with, but she had a dentist appointment. I thought I might make a necklace.” I looked at him curiously, then, trying to hide my hurt. This was the fifth time he cancelled this month. This was the fifth time I caught him in his lies. But I didn’t daresay comment about it. I didn’t want to make him angry. “Did Miss Rice tell you what you got on that paper?”_

_Jared shared another look with Paul. He rolled his eyes, mouthing something I caught the barest movement of lips for;_ See what I mean? She barely stops talking. _He turned his attention back to me, where I was slowly beginning to frown, no longer attempting to hide my pain. Where I was once trying to excuse his behavior was the rationale, dictating to me hidden truths behind Jared’s barely-concealed lies. He continued to smile a forced, awkward grin. “Yeah, told me I lacked direction, but my wordplay made up for it. Got a whopping seventy-six percent on it.”_

_“That’s good,” I said, on the cusp of mumbling. I felt a sickening crunch in my heart, like it was being squeezed to the point of no recuperation. It gave me a needed push in the direction towards the point of no return. I decided it was no longer blissful showering my headspace in ignorance. “I thought you had a speech you were supposed to be working on.”_

_Jared opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. He sent a panicked glance at Paul, who just shook his head at Jared. Without asking, I knew it was because Paul had no sympathy for what Jared was doing. What sort of pain he was putting me through. Yes, Paul was along for the ride, but we were never close; we kissed, we exchanged fake vows in the school play, we laughed and made quick banter when the three of us hung out. But he had no loyalty to me. He wasn’t my brother._

_He was just my brother’s pawn. A player meant to charade around in the joke that was my life._

_“I—just forget it.” I shook my head. The sinking in my chest made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. I was unable to speak without choking. My tears were already on the horizon, blooming behind my eyelids like wobbling flower petals. “I’ll see you at the house.”_

_I ran past them, to the car lot. I ran past the cars. I ran to the woods. I found myself on an unclear path, my knees bruised, and my slide-covered feet covered in dirt and sand._

_I sat in the woods a whole three hours. Just sitting. Just thinking. I wondered aloud and in my head what it was I did to make Jared ashamed of me. I wondered why Paul didn’t fight for me. I looked at the sky and I asked why I was alone._

_All alone._

_All alone._

_All alone._

_I hoped I wouldn’t die that way._

* * *

I flinched, an overwhelming rush of heat enveloping my face. A wall of tears was behind my eyes, fighting at the eyelids that shielded them from the outside world. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to be like those silly, emotional girls off those silly, emotional soap dramas who cried half the time and lashed out at others the rest. I didn’t want to be a soft, broken girl hidden behind a tough-girl façade.

          My brother had always been my favorite person. He was a secret treasure of a person, one I cherished above all else. I loved Kallie like a sister, but I hadn’t known her as long as I knew Jared; Jared had been saving me, protecting me, _loving_ me since the day I breathed life for the first time. From the moment I could giggle, he was beside me. Being my guardian angel without having to even be asked.

          When our mother died—when our father became so inconsolable that mere words did nothing but drive him further away—Jared took on the guardianship role. I was six and he was seven, and he knew next to nothing about girls and their needs, but he didn’t need to know. When I was hungry, he got our favorite chips from the kitchen cabinet and we ate them while sitting underneath the dining table and laughing. We would spend hours on end in the living room, building forts and watching cartoons. We read books to each other—my vocabulary a lot less developed, and his a lot dirtier—and rode the school bus sitting side-by-side.

           We made a pact after our mother died. _“Together forever until the grass is blue and pigs fly high.”_

          Maybe that was why it broke my heart so much when I lost him so easily. When our history became nothing but the leftovers of a scrapbook. When I felt him slip through my grasp, and I could do nothing but watch and reach out for sheer air.

          I was forced to swallow down my pain, and churn it out as anger. I had to hide my sadness with empty quips and humor that never quite matched my eyes. I had to pretend I didn’t _care_ when all I fucking _did_ was care.

          Laying in bed, continuing to watch worthless minutes tick by and listening to the background sound of a news broadcast, I wondered just how nice it’d be if—for once—I could be happy.

          If Jared’s betrayal never happened, and he never tried to purposefully sabotage my dates. If Paul didn’t heed my brother’s example, if our kiss went somewhere meaningful. If my mother hadn’t died, and my dad wasn’t broken.

          I shivered.

          _Sometimes it’s best not to think about the what-ifs,_ I thought bitterly, curling further into my blanket. _Sometimes they hurt worse than the what-ares._

* * *

Of course, Tuesday came. And it was back to pretending.

          “What’s up, party people,” I announced, walking into detention that fine evening. During art class, I drew Mrs. Johnson being eaten by my fairly-chunky friend the sasquatch, and neither Mrs. Meadows nor Mr. Meadows took it lightly. _Figures._ Had to release my frustration and anger somehow, in a way that didn’t involve violence; unlike Paul, I did so artistically. “How are y’all this fine and dandy, cold-as-shit day?”

          My fellow detention-regulars stared at me blankly. None of them could decipher how chipper I was on a day where I was given the slip _and_ bore eye bags as purple as a Twilight Woods fragrance. I supposed my superpower was being drop-dead tired but not dropping dead.

          “I’m swell,” said Paul Lahote, lounging in the back. When he caught my eye, he sent me a wink. While on another day I might have swooned, I was far too entuned with past memories, _past pain_ , to really _care._ “I assume you’re fantastic.”

          “Fan- _freakin’_ -tastic, actually,” I said, scathingly. I approached my usual seat slowly, like I was prey enclosing on my predator’s territory. “Who’s heading detention today? Not Mrs. Johnson, I hope. She has it out for me today. Made me eat lunch in Mr. Meadows’s office, of all places.”

          “I was wondering where you were,” Paul said, sending me a small smirk. If he expected me to _care_ that he wondered upon my whereabouts, that he looked for me and was disappointed when I was nowhere to be seen, then he was right. I did care. I cared a whole freaking lot, almost to the point it was unbearable. But…

          I thought about Jared. I thought about collecting seashells, about brothers telling their friends about their annoying little sister who could never shut up or take a hint. I though about said friends of these brothers, and how they laughed and agreed.

          And for once, my heart listened to my head, hope decimated and reproach in its place.

          I raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a sneer. “I would have been in the library otherwise,” I told him. The look on his face made my words all the more worth it; he looked hurt. Like he caught the unsaid implication: _Why would I be in the cafeteria? There’s no one there worth seeing._ “They’re finally done with cleaning it, and now I can eat in _silence_ again.”

          “Silence?” Paul stared at me. “With _you?_ I just don’t see it.”

          “No one can. That’s the irony of it all,” I said, all deadpan, throwing my hands up in a _what-can-you-do?_ gesture. “But—surprise, surprise!—hearing gossip and open-mouthed chewing makes me want to hurl. I don’t like it. So I _avoid_ it. Capeesh?”

          Paul was watching me carefully. “Capeesh.”

          Before I could further incite this meaningless, boring conversation, or go into tangents that would end with him figuring me out, a door slammed open from behind me. I knew what this meant— _and it meant nothing good._ “Alright, sit down now—and when I say sit _down_ , Ms. Cameron, that doesn’t mean for you to turn around and make goo-goo eyes at Mr. Lahote. Sit! Down!” Mrs. Johnson’s voice was a mixture of a croon and a growl, so when she said her final words, it sounded like the words were coming from a talking, walking automobile. With my tail tucked between my legs, I sat down in a hurry. And I _definitely_ refrained from making goo-goo eyes at Paul. Mrs. Johnson’s eyes were watching me vigilantly, narrowed down into slits. “Now, that we’ve got _that_ settled…”

          Mrs. Johnson was a tall, powerful woman. She had hair cropped impeccably short, reaching just below her ears, and a frown so menacing it could send bears crying for their mothers. Not to mention she had eyes black as coals. And hair as auburn as fall leaves. She fit the description of a demon perfectly well, though I’d never tell _her_ that.

          “You all will be writing lines for me today,” the woman said, in a seething, barely-controlled tone. Several of us groaned in response, not expecting _lines_ when detention usually consisted of sleeping, scribbling, and half-assing past-due homework. Mrs. Johnson sent the room a deadly glance, one that had everyone shutting up and stiffening in their chairs. “No complaining, or you’ll stay _over._ I’ll make you write until your hands bleed.”

          I laughed, hurrying to start coughing and choking in order to disguise my amusement. The mocking part of me muttered, _Funny; I feel my ears already hemorrhaging just from hearing her speak. Vroom, vroom, bitch._

“Is there something _funny_ , Mrs. Cameron?” Mrs. Johnson stared me down, not even bothering to snap at the rest of the delinquent student-body when they craned their necks around to look at me too.

          My hands were laying on my desk. Shrinking down in my seat, confidence deflating at the daring look that ghastly woman was giving me, I began to twiddle my thumbs, violently picking at the skin. I put on a fake, sickeningly-sweet smile. “Just have a bit of a cold,” I said.

          “ _Hm_. Sure.” She shifted her gaze behind me, staring at _something_ with a vicious, analytical look in her eyes. Catching my own gaze, innocent and curious, she made sure to _crush_ it. A single glance and I was frowning, fear in my eyes.

          “Take out your paper, and we’ll begin,” the woman went on to drone. The sound of unzipping, metal-clangs, and tearing came to life immediately after, everyone abiding by her wishes—her demands. I did as well, eyes not moving from Mrs. Johnson as I pulled out my notebook.

          When a lazing, slow-going boy caught her eye, she harrumphed and immediately trotted over to give him a piece of her mind; I took that as my opportunity.

          I snuck a glance behind my shoulder, hands tearing out a sheet. Paul was already looking back at me, his own notebook in front of him. When he caught my eye, it was almost scary how instantaneously they lit up, how his lips involuntarily turned from a frown into an almost-smile.

          I quickly turned around. Unable to control my fast-beating heart, or the way my palms became sweaty and shaky.

          I was supposed to be mad. I was supposed to look at him, and feel angry and sad and frustrated—never excited, never relieved, never happy.

          But—I had to remind myself, _Paul isn’t Jared. He never stopped smiling at you, or saying hi in the halls. It’s okay to like him. It’s okay to feel things for him._

Another part disagreed.

          Staring at Mrs. Johnson, my mind distracted with thoughts of Paul and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he _smiled_ and the way he never stopped teasing me or making stupid jokes, even when he was supposed to be serious, I knew I had it bad.

          And I blamed it entirely on a weekend spent knocking knees and cracking jokes with Paul, my father and Kallie the only things keeping us from becoming something more.

         

* * *

 

          Walking out of detention, I felt someone hovering behind me—so close I could almost taste body heat. I knew who it was without looking. I kept silent, knowing what he wanted; he wanted to talk.

          “I don’t know what it is about you,” Paul said quietly. I barely heard him over the sound of the other delinquents as they sped past and picked back up on conversations halted by an hour of imprisoning quiet. My ears were desperate to hear what he had to say, though, so they were completely entuned with him, everyone and everything else all background noise. “One minute we’re joking around, the next you’re cold. What’s with that?”

          I let out a sigh. I knew it was too good a wish for him to ignore my hot-then-cold reactions towards him; he was always more observant than I gave him credit for. “Look, Paul,” I said, slowly, hoping my words wouldn’t completely crumble our relationship with one-another, “you’re my brother’s best friend. When he was a bitch to me, you never said anything. You _let_ him do it. And yeah, sometimes I’ll forget about it, and we’ll go back to how we were, but right now, all I can think about is Jared making quips about me being annoying, how me never leaving the two of you alone, and you just shrugging. Nodding. Saying _nothing_ in my favor or against.”

          Paul grabbed my shoulder, prompting me to stop and to face him. Everyone passed us by, barely sparing us a glance. The boy in front of me looked completely drained, eye-bags almost worse than mine—and I knew my words did nothing but to worsen the stress in the lines and columns of his face. “Alissa, I can’t speak for your brother. What he did to you was a dick move, I get it, and I should have stood for you, but you know what? If I did, I would have lost Jared _and_ you. He would have got pissed at me for thinking I had a say in how he treats you. _You_ would have got mad at me for being rude to your brother.” Paul shrugged, letting out a humorless laugh. “It was a lose-lose situation. You _know_ I didn’t like what he did to you.”

          I remembered his expressions anytime he was there as witness to Jared’s treatment of me. The looks of annoyance, of disappointment, of anger—they were never at the expense of me, meant to exhibit some sort of wish that I’d disappear. They were because Paul held a similar attitude, though he could bottle up his much better than I ever could mine.

          I frowned. “Still. You never tried to hang out with me. We never went back to being friends after Jared and I fell out. I mean, Jesus, Paul.”

          Paul sucked in a breath. He looked like a man dreading what came next— _his next words_. “Jared told me I couldn’t,” he told me finally.

          _Jared told me I couldn’t._

_Jared told me I couldn’t._

My expression dropped entirely. “ _What_?” I breathed.

          Paul bit his lip. “I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he muttered, clapping a hand over his face and dragging it down. He let out a sigh. “Jared never liked the idea of me being friends with you, even at the very beginning. He thought—” He cut himself off.

          “What? He thought what?” I was still reeling. Still breathless. My heart was spluttering with pain.

          The look on Paul’s face was uneasy. “He didn’t want us to be friends for two reasons,” he told me, holding up two fingers. “I’ve always been a bit of a hothead. Violent, easy-to-get-mad. Jared didn’t like me being around you; he still doesn’t. He thinks I’m going to get you hurt.”

          “Okay,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say—if I even _wanted_ to say anything else. “What was the second reason?”

          If possible, his expression became even _more_ uneasy. “He didn’t want us to become something _more_ than friends.” When I continued to stare at him, saying nothing in return, his eyes turned embarrassed. “I told him I thought you were pretty. He was _pissed._ Stopped talking to me for a week straight. When I said I was sorry, he told me we couldn’t be friends if all I wanted to do was screw his sister.”

          The words came out of my mouth, faster than I could stop them— “And is that all you wanted to do? Screw his sister?” I pursed my lips.

          Paul glanced around. The hallway was empty now, everyone from detention far, far away. We were alone, and our voices were echoing off the walls. He said quietly, “Of course not. I have more respect for you than that.”

          I shook my head. “Okay, so let me get this straight. Jared blew me off because he didn’t want me around you? That’s it?”

          Paul nodded, wordlessly.

          I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in. “That’s just… God. That makes absolutely _no sense._ ” I tightened my hands around my backpack straps. “Fuck.”

          “I never wanted to stop talking to you, Alissa,” Paul said quickly. “I mean—fuck—did you think that kiss meant nothing? That I felt nothing for you? _Obviously_ I fucking did.”

          I kept shaking my head. Shaking it and shaking it and shaking.

          _Do you see what I mean? She never stops talking._

If Jared’s purpose was to keep me safe from Paul, virginity intact, then there was _no_ reason to insult me. To call me annoying. To stop talking to me altogether, unless he materialized for the sole purpose of sabotaging my attempted relationships.

          “Just say something, Alissa,” Paul continued pleading. “I—I told you this so you’d know I _never_ meant to hurt you. And now I can’t fucking stay away. And Jared, I think he understands.”

          I looked at him sharply. “Fucking _fuck_ Jared!” I snapped. “Tell him he’s a dick. Tell him _I know._ Tell him he’s got a whole other thing in mind if he _ever_ thinks I’m going to think he was _right_ for doing something like that!”

          Tears were welling behind my eyes. _No no no no—not in front of Paul, please._ My lip began wobbling and I curled my arms around myself.

          Paul’s eyes were frantically glancing over me, catching the tears in my eyes, the way I looked like I was about to fall apart. I _was_ falling apart.

          I didn’t care how embarrassing I looked, how embarrassing I was _being_ , as I fell into Paul’s arms and began to sob into his chest. His arms curled around him, one of his hands reaching up to run his fingers through my hair— _something he used to do without Jared as witness, when I had nightmares and went to seek him out in Jared’s room at 4 in the morning, after they spent a sleepover drinking energy drinks and playing video games._

          I thought about our first kiss. I thought about the secretive smiles, the secretive winks. The slow spiral into something less, rather than something more. The way Jared let it _all_ happen, all because he didn’t want me and Paul together.

          _He got his wish._

_  
_


	9. Chapter IX: A Wolf Wearing a Dead Man's Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgiveness doesn't come easy.

CHAPTER IX: A WOLF WEARING A DEAD MAN’S FACE

        **BEYOND EMBARRASSED,** and fruitlessly scrubbing at my damp cheeks, I stormed out of the school. Paul followed quickly after.

        “Alissa, please—” the boy said, his long legs keeping easy pace with my much-shorter stride, and— _damn him—_ a hand curled itself around the crook of my elbow, tugging me backwards. “Just _wait.”_

“I’m _done_ listening, Paul,” I told him furiously. I wrenched my arm from his grip, knowing he could have easily held on— _but he didn’t_. He was staring at me, like a lost, defeated puppy. “I’ve heard all that I need to. I know that you, and Jared, are _shitheads_ , and I can’t trust a single word that leaves either of your fucking mouths.”

        Paul opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. He was subtly shaking, too, as though there was a million thoughts whizzing through his mind and not a single one could be articulated into even a half-decent apology—one worth my ear, or my forgiveness. It was like he _knew_ his errors were irredeemable, but a part of him was too fixated on keeping me in his life that he didn’t care; he’d do anything _to_ redeem himself.

        My lips curled into a cruel, hateful smile. At my wit’s end, I let out a scoff. “Just because I cried in your arms doesn’t make you Prince Charming again,” I spat.

        “I know. _I know_. I’m-I’m so sorry—but, please, Alissa. _I can’t lose you._ ” His eyes were desperate and pleading, and his fingers twitched. There was no mistaking what intentions hid behind those chocolate brown eyes.

        _Sorry doesn’t cut it,_ I thought bitterly, curling a tight fist into the rough material of my flannel, _not this time_. _“_ Go find your lapdog,” I said, wanting to hurt him. “Go run to him, like you do every time. Roll over backwards for him, Paul. Like you do, _every fucking time._ ”

        Something seemed to snap in Paul’s eyes, whether from my hurtful words or the way I was turning, intending to leave and never talk to him again. He charged forward, grabbing both my arms into an unrelenting grip. I let out curses, fighting to get away—but he was too strong, and all I made him do was pull me closer. A dark look crossed his face. He tugged and tugged me until our faces were mere centimeters apart. He whispered, “I’m not going anywhere, Alissa. Not until you tell me what I can do, to fix this. _Fix us_. And even then, I’m not leaving until I do just that: _fix us_.”

        _Fix us._ Bleh. What a pathetic term. As though I were broken, as though _he_ were broken. When it was merely our ties being severed. When it was our _relationship_ that was broken.

        _Not me. Not him. Not us._

        For a moment, I imagined what it would be like if I were to forgive Paul. Images flitted by, ones too personal to verbalize or ponder a second time.

        Paul and I sitting at La Push’s beach, pushing at one another and laughing. Paul putting Jared and I in a room together, not letting us out until we found a way to work out our differences. Paul punching Jacob Black in the jaw, after he just called me a whore to my face. Paul taking me out to a starlit picnic for our first date. Paul and I sharing our second, then our third, then our fourth kiss, both so absorbed in our own little lovesick bubble that the errors of the world were paid no mind.

        I blinked out of my reverie, a sudden aching occurring in my chest. My heart and mind were pitted against one another, as they almost always were; one was desperate to forgive and forget, while the other couldn’t believe the nerve Paul had, to think this was something I _could_ learn to let go. If this were Jared, I would not have even thought twice before rejecting his apologies and sending him on his way.

        But this was _Paul._ Paul Lahote, the guy I used to have a big, fat crush on. The very one who made my heart flutter, and my mind second-guess whether I truly wanted to go on a date with what’s-his-face or that-one-guy. He had wronged me in so many ways, and had done things he could never change the irreversible damage from, but unlike Jared, he had always felt guilty— _and the only reason he let Jared get away with it was because he thought Jared was right. That all Paul was, and all Paul could ever be, was a danger, and if he continued to hang around me, he’d hurt me._

My eyes went wide, my lips curling into an ‘o’ of realization. I went suddenly limp in Paul’s grip, and his own face became bewildered, as though my change-in-character (this loss of energy) was something to be concerned about. But frankly, this was what Paul had been waiting on: for me to come to terms with the things he’d done, and for me to rationalize his wrongdoings in a way that wouldn’t have me purposefully trying to lure him away with biting words.

        “Alissa, what’s wrong?” Paul asked, his large hands tensing against my wrists. “You don’t look well.”

        “Jared—he thinks you’re going to hurt me. He thinks you’re dangerous, because of your temper. And you believe it, too,” I said quietly, watching his face to gauge a reaction. I wasn’t surprised when his expression fell flat, a prominent frown wrinkling his brow. “That’s why you didn’t fight him when he made you drop me. You thought he was right to be afraid.”

        Paul didn’t speak for several seconds, his face darkening the longer we stood in silence. Just as I was beginning to think I shouldn’t have said anything at all, he spoke. “You’ve seen the way I am when I get angry, Alissa. I’m not a good guy. I’ve done terrible things to people, and I barely feel any guilt for it. But if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that I would never, _ever_ hurt you. No matter how angry I get. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.”

        I could see in his eyes that he meant every word. It was the most raw and genuine I’d ever seen him be. I couldn’t think of any words to say in that moment, so I ducked my head instead, a burning in my face telling me what shade my cheeks were. How _embarrassed_ I was.

        Paul let out a breath, one that crystallized in the cold, wintry air. He took a finger and gently tipped up my chin. “You still haven’t told me what I can do to fix this,” he muttered.

        There were so many things he’d never be able to fix. Things he couldn’t change, or find solutions to. He couldn’t take back the hurt and anger I had felt for the past seven months, or restore my faith and trust in Jared.

        But I was tired of being angry. I was tired of this paper-thin thread I had tying me to my current reality, where all I was capable of doing was holding grudges and hurting others the same way they hurt me.

        Looking into Paul’s eyes had an effect I wasn’t quite used to. Anytime we stared into each other’s eyes, a peaceful calm came over me, washing away every spade of tension that linked into a leeching slug that sucked out all the good from me.

        _Almost like he was my own form of gravity._

       

* * *

 

        Hours after we separated, I continued to entertain the thought of forgiving him. It was nearly nine at night, and Dad had given me a list of items he wanted from the grocery store, as well as the keys to his car, and I barely remembered anything. I was so lost in my thoughts that anything he said to me was a blur, and I only had a collection of shard-like memories as a way to piece together what he had said and told me to do. The keys and torn, coffee-stained grocery list that had somehow ended up in my hands helped, too.

        It didn’t take long before I got to the grocery mart. It was just twenty minutes away from my house, and was the only building in a three-mile radius from where it was located. The grocery mart was a small, homely building, and was old enough that the letters spelling out Pic-Pac were tilting this-way and that, rusted to the point they looked painted orange. The brick siding was molded in some places, and covered in ferns in others. Not as old as some of the other shops on the reserve, but that didn’t make it any less ancient-looking in comparison to the shops in Forks.

        I had the grocery-list crumbled up in my coat pocket while the keys were twirling from my ring-finger. Unable to stand the stiff silence occupying the car lot, I hummed a lousy rendition of the Ghostbusters theme song.

        My thoughts were chaotic, ranging from _I hope they have ketchup chips_ to _Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters._

        No matter how loud I was to any passersby, it didn’t stop the wind as it whistled in my ears. The chill that went up and down my spine. Or the lowly, ancient voice as it whispered, “ _Alissa.”_

I stopped walking. “Who’s there?”

        The wind shrilled and whistled in my ear. As I glanced around, I saw trees shaking and shrubbery rustling. The voice said again, though this time much louder, “ _Alissa.”_

“What? Alissa what?” I was beginning to be afraid. The voice was disembodied, and it almost sounded like it was coming from right beside me. Yet when I looked around, there was no one in sight.

        Something cold touched my arm. I jerked back, whirling around wildly. The voice was there again, though this time, it sounded much more frantic, much more inhumane. “The Cullens will return,” it snarled.

        _The Cullens._ I knew next to nothing about them, but everyone on the reserve collectively thought of them as the Cold Ones, the ones from the legends. “What about the Cullens?” I said uneasily. I felt crazy. Who was I talking to? No one but myself, it seemed. I wondered for a brief moment if I was going insane.

        The voice whispered, “The Swan girl, she will draw them back. They will return. And with them comes a great enemy.”

        I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous.” Bella was just a normal girl—an _idiotic_ one, but normal, nonetheless. And what was this about an enemy? _What_ enemy?

        “ _Not_ ridiculous,” said the voice, more heatedly. It didn’t sound happy with my tone. “You are in danger. You are _Gifted_. They will try to take that from you, just as they will your father.”

        “My—what?” My heart began to pound at the sound of my father being in danger. Even though I was confused beyond belief, and I found this entire conversation to be nothing but a figment of my imagination, I also couldn’t stop listening. I was concerned that there was truth hidden behind the cryptic messages. “My Dad’s not in danger. And I’m not… _gifted,_ or whatever.”

        “You are of age now,” said the voice. When I looked around for a third time, I found myself jumping back—my hand coming up to cover my mouth as I let out a shriek. I was no longer alone. A ghostly-looking man was standing beside me, looking eerily similar to the painting of Taha Aki my Dad had in his study. He had a hard look on his face, but it was almost emotionless. I wondered if this was the way humans looked in the afterlife, holding a certain deadness to features that once sprouted with liveliness. “In communicating with me, you show that you have now gained your Affinity. You are linked to the dead.”

        _You are linked to the dead._ I mumbled these words to myself, looking at this man—this, this _spirit_ with a dawning horror. The rational part of me thought this was bullshit, but the part that thought there was some truth to the legends of the Cold Ones and the Spirit Warriors wasn’t so sure.

        “I don’t believe any of this,” I said instead, knowing damned well I did. I was watching the spirit with increasing unease, wondering why he was speaking to me. Wondering what the point to this conversation was.

        A hint of amusement tweaked at the ends of the spirit’s lips. Before I could question him, he backed away from me and turned into a wolf.

        The rational part screamed out, “He’s a spirit! He can’t touch you!” but that didn’t stop me from thinking he was real and fumbling to the ground, a loud shriek leaving me. I crab-crawled away from the wolfman, growing more and more antsy as he shook out his fur and began to slowly follow.

        “D-Don’t…” I stuttered, a gravel-coated hand reaching up and turning sideways, palm-out, as he inched closer. He stopped instantly, his chocolatey eyes following my every move. “What the fuck…” This was all just a hallucination, wasn’t it? I was tricking myself into believing I had some sort of power, and could talk to the dead. Yeah, sure! I was Alissa Cameron, your average, everyday medium.

        The wolfman barked, and it sounded funny. I wondered if he was laughing at me. His voice sounded in my head, just as gravely and inhumane: _In every generation of the Camerons, one child bears the Affinity. In rare cases, two children have it. In your generation’s case, only you have it. Your father is the one who had it before you. He is your tribe council’s emissary._

I knew my father was on the council, and before that, it was my grandfather. But the council _emissary?_ I didn’t understand that. I could only assume he was an advisor of sorts. That wasn’t the biggest thing on my mind, however—“So… my brother doesn’t have this?” I felt a bit smug, before quickly stamped down that feeling. This wasn’t real. I was imagining things, trying to make myself feel bigger than I actually was. And it worked, if only for a moment.

        The wolfman shook his large, fuzzy head. _Your brother is a Spirit-Warrior._

I bit my lip deeply, until I tasted blood. “What is a Spirit Warrior?” I asked the wolfman. It had been so long since I last went to a bonfire that I barely remembered the blood and grit of our ancestral stories. However, I knew some things, and if this was more than a hallucination, if this was _true,_ then it occurred to me there was more to Jared’s behavior and his actions than I originally believed.

        _A shapeshifter,_ said the wolfman simply. _He is who must protect the tribe. Protect innocents from the Cold Ones._

        I sucked in a breath.

        Was this real? Or was this just some sort of fantastical bullshit I concocted in my head?

        “Hey!” said from the storefront. I turned to look over at the grocery mart, where a man was standing outside of the automatic door with a hand waving in my direction. “Are you alright?”

        It must have looked pretty funny to anyone else, me lounging against the pavement and staring at an imaginary person. _Talking_ to the air. I swallowed hard at the thought, at how utterly _crazy_ I looked to this man, and raised a shaky thumbs-up. “I’m fine! Just fell.” The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

        The man didn’t say anything. If he had been there for long enough, then he knew I was lying and that I was either tripping on LSD or had an imaginary friend. He went back inside the walkway. I loosened a long-held breath I’d been keeping.

        I felt the spirit come closer, so close I felt sparks fluttering across my skin. _People are going to die if you do not save them,_ the wolfman told me, a solemnness in his voice that told me this wasn’t a joke. _It’s up to you to save the pack._

We met eyes head-on. I gave a nod, swallowing deeply.

        The spirit suddenly began to glow, and I let out a whimper when a light shone directly from his body to my hand. He disintegrated right before my very eyes, and each piece went straight into my palm, giving it a strange, yellowy saturation that made me nearly weep from discomfort.

        Even after he was gone, I continued to sit there. Thinking about what he said. Wondering if any of this were actually true, or if I was just going fucking insane.

        But when I glanced at my hand a second time… it was to see a crescent moon tattooed across my palm. I scrubbed hard at it, rubbed the balms of my hands into my eyes, but each time I looked back, it was still there.

        And without a doubt, I knew it was all real.

       

 


	10. Chapter X: The Girl Who Cried Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She shouldn't.  
> She couldn't.  
> She wouldn't.
> 
> She does.

        **DAD DIDN’T EVEN GET _HALF_** of what he had on his list. As though in a fugue state, I went through the grocery mart witless, grabbing only the basics for a week’s worth of groceries; eggs, milk, bread, butter, and bottled water. I remembered him telling me to grab a few cans of marinara sauce, for spaghetti and pasta, but the confused, angry part of me feigned forgetfulness as spite.

        My mind was frantic. I was desperate to think back on all previous encounters I had with Paul, with Jared, with Dad. Were there signs? If Jared was a shapeshifter, did that mean Paul was, too? Or Dad?

        _Sam has to be one,_ I thought with a dawning frown. _Jared follows him around like a lost dog._

So did Paul. So did Embry.

        They all had long hair and lanky figures before they started following Sam. But the moment they cut off contact with everyone else, with anyone but their little _clique_ , they grew taller, bulkier. They cut their hair and got matching tattoos. They became feverishly warm, something I noticed whenever Paul or Jared would touch me.

        And when they were angry, they would _shake_. Paul never shook before he started following Sam; but after, after he _changed,_ he was so much easier to anger. And it was like a monster was beneath his skin, trying to claw its way out. 

        I thought back on the day in the cafeteria, when Paul attacked Jeremiah. It never occurred to me how exactly he _heard_ Jeremiah’s insults. We were separated by quite a few yards, and even though Paul was in eyesight, he never would have been able to hear me over the boisterous laughing and talking of our peers.

        If what the spirit told me was true, then it meant that the boys had supernatural hearing. It meant they had (well, probably: _that_ was ‘to be determined’) supernatural strength. Things I never would have believed if it wasn’t for the signs—signs I ignored when I believed the legends to be nothing but fables, stories made up for the entertainment of tribal children.

        It explained the unwarranted hatred that the entire tribe held against the Cullens, if they truly were the Cold Ones. And it explained why Jared and Paul called themselves protectors, why they acted like a cult, and why they warded away others who didn’t have that same damned tattoo— _Jesus Christ, it all makes sense._

How could I be so _blind_?

        Ignoring the clerk as he told me to have a very nice day, I barely paid any attention as I walked out of Pic-Pac. I walked over to my car—well, my _Dad’s_ car—slowly, so much slower than my usual pace, holding the grocery bags tight in my grasp. The unmindful part of me wondered if I still had time to run in the local drug store and pick up stain remover for the coffee stain on the passenger seat, while the paranoid part couldn’t stop my eyes from flickering around, waiting with bated breath for something to jump from the shadows.

        Surprisingly, my paranoia wasn’t so far off the mark for once. I had a _right_ to be afraid.

        A shriek caught itself in my throat when I saw limbs materialize from the darkness. A ghostly woman appeared in front of me, blood covering her from head to foot. She had a gash in the side of her neck, and from what I could tell of her misshapen figure, a broken back. Blood was spilling into her eyes from the open wounds on her scalp. She whispered, “He is here.” She was looking over my shoulder, at the front of the grocery mart.

        “ _Who_ is here?” I asked. A sardonic voice said, _The pizza man,_ while another one whispered, _A monster._ My fingernails dug into the skin of my palms and I felt my blood freeze. Not even an hour ago, I learned the truth of shapeshifters, and here I was, being told by a newer, scarier-looking ghost that _someone_ was behind me.

        “ _He’s_ here. _He’s here_. You are not ready,” cried the woman, eyes beady and black. They turned bloodshot as red pulp drowned in them.

        I had yet to turn around.

        “I’ve heard many things about those with affinities.” The voice was deep and velvety. There were no footsteps, yet the hair on the nape of my neck curled, as though there was someone watching. _A predator._ “But none so widespread as the stories about your father.”

        “It runs in my family. Are there others?” I should not have spoken. There was no mistaking the sarcasm in my voice; from what I knew, there _were_ no other families. I was taunting him, knowing there was nothing I could do, if this was where I’d meet my fate. As I always did, I let my wit outweigh my brawns, relying on sarcasm as a defense mechanism.

        The man chuckled, the sound _dark_ and haunting. It was almost scathing, sending a chill along my throat and down to my stomach. “I have been alive for a long time, young one. I have met many of your predecessors.”

        _Did you kill any?_ I wanted to ask, but bit my tongue. Angering this man, this _creature,_ would do more harm than good. I decided on a light approach; I told him, “Then you must be well over a century old.”

        “Indeed,” he said simply. “Do you know why I am here?”

        “No,” I said. I was watching the spirit in front of me, listening to her rapid, borderline-insane murmurs, trying to ignore the fear as it crept up my spine, as it wracked me with shudders. “Why are you here?”

        “Those with affinities are quite _valuable_ to vampires,” the man told me. I sucked in a sharp breath. “Did you know that vampires can hold similar powers? Some are benign while others are… Quite violent.” There was a smile in his voice. “I am here for your father.”

        “You won’t be getting him,” I said. I was scared, but I wouldn’t let the fear of being mutilated shake my defenses when it came to my Dad. I wasn’t going to let this guy intimidate me. _Yet you already are._ I ignored the voice. “And you won’t be getting me, either.”

        The vampire laughed. “Is that so?” There was an edge to his voice. I could only assume he was mocking me. “You are but a girl, one without any knowledge of her powers, of what she can do. You are _slow_. You are but a child.”

        I dropped the grocery bags to my feet. The spirit in front of me watched warily as I curled my hands into fists.

        He was right. I didn’t know a single thing about my powers. I didn’t know what an emissary was. And what was this reputation my Dad had with vampires? Nothing good, I was sure.

        I turned around to face the vampire.

        He was good-looking, but any sort of warmth I felt looking at his facial symmetry and bark-colored locks turned cold at the sight of his bloody-red eyes. The smile on his face showed a set of perfect white teeth, including a pair of _incisors_ , that gleamed menacingly. He was tall and muscular, with a famished look on his face.

        He was hungry.

        _He wanted to kill me._

“I will leave your father a message,” he said, inching closer. He was slow, and I knew it was intentional; he wanted to mock my human speed. “He will not handle it well to find his daughter’s broken, mutilated body as a centerpiece on the news… And he will give me what I want.”

        My face paled, knees locking into place. _Fuck,_ I thought frantically; _what kind of situation did you get yourself into now, idiot?_ I whirled around, to face the dead lady.

        I was being looked at as though I were the next obituary for the local newspaper. The blood-soaked ghost whispered, “You are going to die.”

        _No, I’m not. No, I’m not. No, I’m not._ Maybe I’d unlock my powers—whatever the fuck they were—by desperate prayer. _Dear God, please don’t let me die like this. I always thought I’d die from something crazy and adrenaline-inducing, like skydiving. Not being torn apart by something I didn’t even know existed until today. Tonight, actually. Please?_

“What’s the first thing you do when faced with an enemy whose strengths outmatch your own?” said the vampire dude. A very strange question, coming from a killing machine who only moments ago was threatening to tear me apart.

        I clenched my eyes shut, resigned to my fate, and said, “Let them kill you.”

        The vampire sighed. “That is not a viable answer,” he said, sounding like he was… Was this old bastard _scolding_ me? Did he _want_ me to fight back? No-could-do, Mr. I-Eat-People; I had already accepted my fate. I was too lazy to change my mind. “When faced with a stronger enemy, you must rely on observation. You have to find your enemy’s _weaknesses_.”

        “What kind of weaknesses does a fucking vampire have?” I asked, not intending for a response. The question was rhetorical. I went on; “Yeah, thought so. None!”

        “There are two things in this world capable of killing a vampire. Those of their own kind, and shapeshifters. They are virtually indestructible. That is why, Alissa, your powers are so remarkable.”

        The walking deathmonger in front of me suddenly turned to dust.

        I turned slowly around, facing the vampire again—only to watch, with an agape jaw, as the pale, indestructible vampire began to disintegrate. However, it didn’t just stop there; his limbs became corded with wrinkles, growing shorter, and the clothes melted off the figure as it appeared. Now, the figure was the same Taha-Aki lookalike I’d spoken to minutes and minutes ago, in this very parking lot.

        “What—who—what…” I shook my head, completely bewildered. “What the fuck?”

        Taha Aki approached me, looking every bit as haunting and translucent as he was just thirty minutes ago, give or take. “You listen more when you think you are in danger,” he told me. “I learned that from our interaction just moments before.”

        “You know, _usually_ , the unexpected mentor waits a couple days to bother their trainee. It’s like that in every movie or book. But you—you waited _thirty minutes._ ” I shook my head, scowling. “This is bullshit. I didn’t sign up for unscripted visits.”

        He seemed unfazed, possibly having dealt with the same distressed outbursts from my ancestors. I wouldn’t know; this dude didn’t seem to have a sense of humor, or have time for chitchat. He barely flinched at my half-bit ramble, and said to me, “Those words were not an illusion. They were a vision. Your father is in great danger, child. As are you.”

        “What about Jared?” I asked. A part of me still cared about that dickweed’s wellbeing, even if I despised him.

        “There is no rarity in the abilities of Spirit Warriors,” said the spirit dismissively. _Wouldn’t they want to hurt people we care about, though?_ Hurt where the heart was. It was like that in the movies. “While the Volturi may not know your father’s location, or even your own existence. they know of the great things your family is capable of. One of your great ancestors, Dakota, was actually _turned._ He is a consultant of the Volturi.”

        “Dakota?” _Volturi? The fuck is that—some sort of drug empire?_ I sucked my lip underneath my teeth, chewing on it thoughtfully. “If he had shapeshifter genetics, wouldn’t the vampire venom have killed him?”        I was following a whim on my thoughts.

        By the unimpressed look on Taha Aki’s face, I was nowhere close to the truth. “Being an emissary, he had no shapeshifter blood. Merely emissary. It is told that the blood of an emissary mixed with the venom of a vampire creates one of the strongest creatures a mortal may ever face.”

        I smirked. “You trying to tell me something, creepy dude?” He was no longer a pallid, cryptic-worded vampire, but he remained a pain in my ass, with a manner of speaking that was _just_ as cryptic. In conclusion—I liked neither one. I preferred my previous existence, in which I thought I was a perfectly normal human-being with far too much kick-ass for one puny body. Much simpler times… I could _weep,_ just thinking about it.

        The spirit didn’t smile, and his formidable pose didn’t waver. He said, “You are still in negation of your heritage. I cannot allow that. Waiting for you to realize the truth could set into motion a turbulent chain of events, none of them wise or good. You will endanger every person you love.” His eyes were like steel as they met mine. “You will tip the balance between peace and outright catastrophe.”

        “Jesus H. Christ, you make me sound like… well, like _God_ or something.” I shook my head. Sure, maybe I was in a _little_ bit of disbelief (read: denial), but after that freaky tattoo appeared on my palm, I was more than a little perturbed. And I certainly was ready to believe this wasn’t a psychotic episode… sort of. I still had my doubts. Okay, maybe this spirit had a _right_ to be wary. “I _know_ this is real! In whatever realm of consciousness I am in right now, this is _totally_ real.”

        “Go to your father,” instructed the spirit. He seemed far too wise and old to endure my games. He surprisingly managed well, though, and didn’t call me a petulant child; I called that a _win_ in both our books. “He will teach you control and endurance.”

        “And what will _you_ teach me, oh great one?” There had to be a reason why he was the one spirit, of thousands, to seek me out… and offer me guidance.

        “I will teach you how to harness the prowess of a thousand warriors,” he said. _Um, what?_ “You will need not rely on others—namely, your generation’s Spirit Warriors—for protection.”

        I snorted. _Yeah, right. Me, protect myself from immortals? What a fucking joke._ But he seemed serious.

        The Taha-Aki lookalike—who I was starting to think maybe was _the_ Taha Aki—disintegrated again. I watched him, a disgruntled arch in my brows.

        When he was gone, I rushed to my Dad’s car. I absentmindedly put the groceries in the backseat, then hopped in the driver’s seat.

        I didn’t bother to buckle in. I let out a hot breath and slammed my head against the wheel.

        The horn went off. It was terribly loud. But I ignored the bewildered grocery clerk as he came hauling out of the store, probably annoyed with me for being such a public disturbance, in favor of reversing. Then turning off onto the broken blacktop.

        I was quiet and contemplative on the drive home.

        And when I got there, I was none-too-thrilled to see Jared on the front-porch. Paul was with him. It looked like the two of them had just gotten back from somewhere.

        I glanced at the moon, as it lay overhead. With how dark and cold it was, it had to be around 11 at night. Maybe even _midnight._ I wasn’t surprised. That ghost-dude spent a long ass while drilling into me.

        Ghost. Spirit Warrior. Emissary.

        _Those fuckers._

I pulled into the driveway, a bit too swift for a place without much space. Unlike a parking lot, where there was a _surplus_ of space. Ignoring the heated stares I was getting from the two assholes on the porch, I hopped out, pulling Dad’s keys and my lovely wallet with me. I whistled. The sound was loud and annoying, and I hoped with every inch of life in me that it hurt those half-wolf nimrods’ ears. I grabbed out the two grocery bags I had in the backseat, and used one hand—the hand not holding the keys and wallet—to carry them. I walked _slowly_ , to purposefully annoy Dickweed and Butthead.

        Jared looked angry when I stepped up onto the porch, his face knit into a scowl. “It’s almost midnight, Alissa,” he told me, all slow-like—like I needed a fucking speech lesson.

        I smiled sweetly. “Perfect observation there, dickweed,” I said, my smile growing even sweeter when his face flashed violently. I really wanted him to show his true colors. Did anger trigger the shift? Maybe that was the key. Maybe all I needed to do was hit him where it hurt most. _But how?_ “But I don’t need a revisit to primary school clockwork lessons. Save the lecture for Father Time; he’s a _real_ Wild Man.”

        Jared opened his mouth but closed it immediately afterward, wordless. He looked tired, as though he had been through the ringer a couple too many times. But there were no cuts, no bruises. Just dark circles painted across his under-eyes. A tiredness that seemed to strengthen the longer he was on his feet.

        _Do not pity him,_ I thought, my jaw clenching. I could almost feel my teeth grinding against one another, a violent clacking that rang torturously in my ears. _He doesn’t deserve it._

But the doting, sisterly part of me wanted to pamper and cater to his every need.  

        We must have stayed silent for far too long, because our secondary porch-lingerer cleared his throat. Paul glanced at Jared, then at me, his expression taut. “It’s dangerous,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here out at this time of night. What if something happened to you?”

        It occurred to me, then, all the times I was told a similar sentiment, all by Jared. On date nights, or when I was going out with friends. Anytime it was dark. _It’s dangerous out there, Alissa. You’ll get hurt._ It may have hurt my pride to admit it, but Jared wasn’t trying to control me by keeping me home. They kept me there, where he knew I was safe, so I’d be out of the crossfire from shapeshifters and vampires alike.

        It made me want to vomit. I didn’t want to empathize with Jared. I didn’t want to forgive him. It put a horrible taste in my mouth.

        _No. No. No. I won’t._ I refused.

        “I’m alive, so who cares?”     

        My easy dismissal must have awoken my brother’s vocals, because he suddenly snapped his head up from the porch flooring to stare at me, and said— “Stay home at night. Alright?”

        I wanted to scream from frustration. “ _Dad’s_ the one who wanted me to go!” I said in protest. The look he gave me, it screamed ‘ _I literally don’t know what to do with you anymore’_ and I did _not_ appreciate it. Especially when it was Dad who needed me to get groceries in the first place; Jared had no inkling of that, though, and assumed I did every little thing just to tick him off.

        Was he far from the truth? No. But this time, I truly didn’t intend to provoke him. I was just buying food.

        Jared did not believe me. “You could have told him _no_ ,” he said matter-of-factly.

        A lurch in my stomach told me I was irate, and I let it show on my face. I scowled. “He’s our _Dad_ , dumbass. Telling him ‘no’ is like telling Hitler he shouldn’t invade Poland. _Fucking useless_!”

        Paul placed his hand on my arm, squeezing lightly. When I glanced at him, it was to see his expression shifting, eyes reading a big fat ‘ _Don’t provoke him._ ’ So similar to Sam on that cliff. Like I was one word away from triggering the Big Bad Wolf.

        Of course, I never realized the extent of that statement. But now, it truly registered just how much of a life-or-death matter it was. If I continued to provoke him, he would unleash the beast from within, and I’d be at the mercy of fate and karma, whether good or bad.

        Did the beast evade reason? Did humanity leave the moment anger reached its peak?

        The way Paul looked when he fought Jeremiah that day in the cafeteria, it was more than anger I saw in his eyes. It was like a primal rage had taken grasp of his humanity, and shoved it outside a window. He beat Jeremiah within an inch of his consciousness, chipped a tooth—and there was anything but empathy in his gaze. No guilt, or sudden realization for the extent of his actions. No, even if he _was_ dissociated during that time of anger, the way he looked afterward, he certainly didn’t look very remorseful.

        If I asked him now whether he felt any remorse for beating the shit out of Jeremiah, I knew his answer. And I was sure that he’d _never_ regret losing himself to the monster within. If he had no care for a person, then their wellbeing was not a priority.

        If he was provoked, then surely the provoker deserved the coming fate. _Surely_ it was inevitable.

        Right?

        “Alissa? Alissa.” Jared waved a hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my unconscious subconscious internal debate. I raised my gaze to his, just as the hazy image of a bloody, disheveled Paul left the forefront of my mind. “Are you even listening?”

        I shouldered away his hand. “Does it _look_ like I was listening?” By his expression, he knew that, but he looked like he had wanted a different answer. I sneered. “Ugh. I’m done talking to you clowns. Be dears and put up the groceries, will you?” I shoved the two bags into Jared’s hands.

        Jared stared at the bags, then at me. “Alissa—”  

        _Bring him out into the open,_ said a voice, from within my head. _Make him angry. See what he does._

A stupid, flaw-ridden plan, one that could wind me up in a hospital with gauze aligning every part of my body, but a morbidly curious part of me didn’t _care._

Maybe fear would trigger my powers, just as anger triggered his.

        _You were afraid when you faced Taha Aki,_ reminded that same sadistic voice. _What makes you think it will save you now?_

I did not answer. “Give the bags to Paul,” I told Jared, then nodded my head in the direction of our father’s car. “I have more in the car.”

        Jared did as I asked him, a look of apprehension on his face. He looked like he didn’t believe me. But he gave the bags to Paul anyway, ignored the bewildered look on his best friend’s face, and followed me down the stairs.

        I looked at my palm, feet freezing in their place. The crescent moon wasn’t very vibrant, painted a dark black in contrast to my tanned skin, but it seemed to turn alight with beams the moment my eyes fell upon it. I placed my second palm atop it, dragging a finger along the lines—and I nearly gasped when it suddenly glowed bright.

        Jared had also stopped walking. “Alissa, I thought we were getting more bags?” He sounded even more nervous than before. Maybe he thought I was going to commit homicide. Sure, the idea crossed my mind—but I didn’t have the _guts_ for murder.

        I turned to look at him. I wracked my brain for things I could say that would abuse his control, that would test his limits, but I found nothing. From all our arguments before, it was as though he was one with his wolf, and he was hard to rile. Unlike Paul, who was volatile, and anything and everything could— _would_ —piss him off. My gaze traveled back to my palm, growing awe-filled at the way it brightened upon my attention.

        _Taha Aki never said what my powers are,_ I thought, frowning to myself. _Can I force a shift?_

“Alissa, why are you staring at your hand?” Jared asked. “You’re starting to _really_ freak me out.”

        I looked at him. He was watching me, warily, and he had a twist to his lips that almost made him seem like he was scowling. But he wasn’t. He was just anxious—he didn’t know what to expect from me. He didn’t know whether I’d suddenly yell at him, or attempt to hit him.

        I marched forward. My hand was still growing, and I caught the look of confusion and horror on Jared’s face. He began to back away from me, eying me like _I_ was a bad guy, but I ignored it. I dodged his hand as he attempted to grab me by the wrist. He was fast, but I was determined, and my determination out-beat his will to avoid my unwarranted touches.

        I did as I had intended, as I had wanted since the idea first crossed my mind—

        I grabbed his head between my palms, my crescent tattoo aligning with his left ear. I could feel its power throbbing from within me, like I had veins brimming with light.

        “ _Shift,”_ I whispered.

        Jared didn’t move, nor fight off my loose grip. He merely stared, like he no longer knew me. There was a look of horrified understanding in his eyes. He was obviously bewildered; I could almost hear him now— _How does she know?_

        _Shift._

_Shift._

_Shift._

The front door burst open. Jared hardly even flinched. I peered around his shoulder, eyes searching for the outdoors intruder—and I felt a frown appear on my lips when I found my father and Paul standing in the doorway. Paul no longer had groceries, so I knew he must have gone inside to put them away. But my father… why was he here?

        Did he know that I was visited by spirits?

        Paul tried to rush forward, but Dad grabbed him, muttering something inaudible. Dad yelled, “ _Alissa, don’t!_ ”

        My hand turned stark-white, growing incomprehensibly bright. Jared’s face began to pale, too, and he started trembling. A growl came rushing out, his lips curling into a sneer. His dark-brown eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head; his pupils dilated, eyes turning even darker. The hands at his waist suddenly reached up, and grabbed onto my wrists.

        He tried pulling me off, but I shook at him. I pressed harder. So hard that Jared let out a yell of pain, like the light in my hand had _burned_ him.

        “I just want to _see_ him,” I said breathlessly. “He won’t hurt me. I won’t let him.”

        He wouldn’t hurt me. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. I’d _never_ allow another man to pain me.

        But Red Riding Hood was never a match for the Big Bad Wolf.

        Neither were the Three Pigs for their predator.

        The little boy who cried wolf could only watch and cry as his sheep were powerlessly slaughtered.

        They were stronger, faster. More intelligent than anyone ever gave them credit for.

        Though I tried, I would never be anything but a weak, helpless human.

        Odin was no match for Fenrir.

        _And I was no match for my brother._

_  
_


	11. Chapter XI: Shatter Me Gently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What just happened?

**“** Everybody is a book of blood;  
                whenever we’re opened, we’re red. **”**

        _Clive Barker, Books of Blood: Volumes One-Three_

* * *

 

They say that when you are hanging on the edge of life, with no threshold to cling to, there is a light. You see your memories, _feel them,_ and your body goes numb, resigned to its fate of renewed uselessness. Everyone you’ve ever loved or cared for is at the forefront of your mind, and the only reason you struggle—the only reason you try your hardest to stay—is to see them one last time. Your organs shut down, and your eyes stay closed.

        What they don’t tell you about is the darkness.

        And the emptiness.

        When you are the cusp of death, there is nothing waiting for you in bardo. Nothing tantalizing you to stay, nothing urging you to go. There is no leftover emotion, no sadness or remorse. All that awaits you is an empty, heart-heavy feeling.

        You don’t even ache. You just remember.

        There’s no fondness, either.

        In my memories, there was a blank space of the time leading up to when I fell into darkness. No matter how many times I reached, or rechecked the timeline, I came up blank. There was smoke fogging that part of my life, that part of my memories, keeping me from knowing what had caused this state.

        It was horrifying. I wanted to leave. I didn’t care if that leaving was through death or through continued life. I didn’t care if all I had for the rest of my soul’s existence was regret, if I were to die, or bitterness, if I were to live; this place I was in, it was not a happy place. If I were capable of fear, then I would be in a state of panic and paranoia.

        _Jared. Paul. Dad. Kallie._ I desperately thought of the names of anyone I had ever cared for, looking for an anchor. I was being irrational and stupid, letting myself believe that any alternative was better than enduring this Hell, being in bleak tandem, stuck in life-or-death turmoil, in a place that housed devils at every corner. But it was true. I did not want to be here. I wanted to be back in the real world, at my house, eating whatever concoction my Dad made for the night, playing board games with him and Jared like we used to. Regardless of our current crumbling relationship. Maybe Paul and Kallie could be there, too. We’d fabricate a family, and let that be my reality for the night.

        Here, I had all the time in the world to think. Maybe not to regret, or ridicule the mistakes it took to get me here, since I was missing memories and didn’t have the ability to _feel_ like I wanted, but it was like I still _knew_ how to fear, and I used that label on these fast-paced, irrational thoughts saying, _I want to go home, I don’t want to be here, let me leave, please please please._ Emotions were just words, words we used to describe sudden lurches in our state of minds. Influenced by every itty-bitty inconvenience, fucked over by sudden, fateful changes in our relationships and environments.

         I wasn’t human here. I had eyes and feet; there were ears at my temples, and digits on the ends of my limbs—but my psyche, it was _different_. I couldn’t apply feelings to my thoughts. My state of mind, it was not real.

        It was almost as though I were in a dream.

        _A dream._ Yes. It explained the shadows that materialized at every corner, how they crept up to my stationary form yet _failed_ to damage me. It explained why my thoughts were plagued by paranoia, but I was not immobilized by fear; why my heart was not beating, like a human heart should, and why I had the ability to think, as normal people should, but there wasn’t any feeling to it.

        “Lucid dreaming,” said Dream Me. And it cemented in me, that this wasn’t reality, this wasn’t bardo, this wasn’t _anything_ ; it was just a fucking dream.

        _I’m not dying._

        I peered around, absorbing every inch of the darkness. There was no exit. No immediate route for escape. But there had to be a way to snap out of this.

        There had to be a way to wake up. I couldn’t just wait for the dream to reach its end, and for consciousness to find me. It needed to be forced.

        It had to end, before I went fucking insane.

        But there was nothing. I was surrounded by darkness— _shrouded_ in the damned stuff. I couldn’t see a thing, not even my hands. If I even _had_ hands.

        Did I have nothing? Or was I _just_ a state of mind? Not physical, not real.

        Just imagined. An illusion.

        Then, something happened.

        It was like a light flickered on in this Hell. The darkness disappeared, and in its place was a meadow. But this meadow, it seemed familiar. It was in the midst of a circle of trees. Everything was green, from the trees to the shrubbery to the meadow grass.

        I looked down. I had a body. I had hands and feet and the limbs that connected to them. A torso, and clothes to tie the human aesthetic together.

        Why was I here?

        As though the fates overheard my question, I heard a growl. And it was like nothing I had ever heard before. It sounded deadly. Like a predator who had finally hunted down his prey, and he was moving in for the kill.

        But there was nothing around.

        I twisted my head sideways, looking over my shoulder, but there was nothing there. Just scenery, the same as in front of me. Then there was another growl. It came from beside me. I looked there.

        And again, I saw nothing.

        “Where the fuck are you?” I asked aloud. This was all in my head, so I probably could have _thought_ something and still had it answered, but it felt like a comfort that I could speak. I felt like I _needed_ to speak. There wasn’t an itch, or a sense of urgency, but my mouth needed to open, so I let my vocal cords sing their chorus.

        They did.

        And the next growl wasn’t just an echo.

        When I looked beside me again, there was a wolf. It was silver—not the color of mercury, but two or three shades darker—and gigantic, larger than any animal I’d seen in my life, even bears. It had humanlike eyes, with an uncanny brown color that made me think of… It couldn’t be. No.

        Brown eyes were common for wolves. And if this were the apparition of one of Sam Uley’s pack—and part of my heart knew it, for regular wolves were nowhere near the size of this wolf—brown eyes would be just as common, for all of the shapeshifters had them. So truly, I did not know who this was. But the eyes were familiarly safe—inviting, even. Eyes I could get lost in.

        For the first time in this dream, I could pinpoint a feeling.

        In the presence of this wolf, I was content. If there were pieces missing of my puzzle, they had been found. I felt whole. Complete.

        _Paul._

“Paul.” I wanted to ask him why he was here, why _I_ was here, but he was a wolf. Not human. He wouldn’t be able to answer me. I also wanted to _yell_ at him, ask him why he never told me the truth. I could forgive him, if I knew there had been something forbidding him from doing so. If I knew it had nothing to do with me, and _everything_ to do with himself.

        I couldn’t get rid of the memory of our chat. The one we had after a mutual detention. Paul had said he’d stopped talking to me because _Jared_ told him to.

        My memories were not as solid as I would have liked. Sometimes I felt as though they weren’t reliable, while most of the time, they were _all_ I could rely on. For the longest time, my memories were my only friends, and I used them as my one source of happiness. After Jared and Paul abandoned me, I stopped talking to everyone. I was at war with the world, with myself, and couldn’t bring myself to pretend everything was okay.

        I was angry. Paul left me at a time when I had just started to think I loved him. Jared took him. Bitterness became my new best friend. When I thought about Paul, the only guy I had ever truly cared about, and Jared, my best friend and brother, I didn’t have any happy memories. As they say, you should be glad that it happened, not that it’s over—but I wasn’t glad _or_ sad. I was mad. I wanted to throw things, hurt people, maybe even hurt myself—do _something_ to fight against the tumultuous resentment as it raged inside me.

        When people leave you, with no note, no explanation, you’re not obliged to handle it with dignity. There’s no rule telling you to pick up your own pieces and move on.

        I didn’t pick up my own pieces. I still hadn’t, even after an explanation was bestowed upon me. Some people filled their voids with alcohol and drugs. Others did it with sex. Some used pain. Some pretended to be okay, and went day by day until their picture-perfect reality fell apart.

        What was I?

        “Why didn’t you stay?” I whispered. My ears were filled with cotton. I felt the words vibrate against my throat, saw Paul’s ears twitch with the sound waves, but I didn’t _hear_ myself speak them.

        Paul glanced at the westward trees. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. I knew what he was thinking. _I told you already. Jared didn’t want me to._

I couldn’t fathom why someone as free and independent as Paul let another person tell him what to do. Why he couldn’t let his heart steer him in the right direction. Why he decided it was better for us to be nothing than for us to be anything at all.

        _I’m not safe to be around. I would have hurt you._

I shook my head. His departure was before his change. His change was only _recent_ , if I was correct in my assumptions of what a change looked like. And after his change, he began to _stop_ avoiding me. If anything, he wouldn’t leave me alone.

        “I don’t understand you,” I said. The words felt empty. “I don’t understand any of this.”

        Paul shuffled closer. And for the first time, I didn’t have to make up words for him. I heard his voice inside my head; _Wake up and I’ll help you understand._

“How?”

        _Close your eyes._

I did.

        And I heard him growl.

        _I love you, Alissa._

I wanted to tell him that I loved him too. That every time I tried to go out with someone, it was all a desperate attempt to get over him, to find someone who wasn’t going to leave me the minute I got my head on straight. That when I swore at him, or acted like I didn’t care, it was all for show. That I was hurt, and I didn’t want to forgive him just for him to break my heart all over again.

        But the world around me faded before I got a chance to.

        -

        I awoke in an unfamiliar room, on unfamiliar sheets, with unfamiliar clothes on my body. Of course, I didn’t notice that at first. But as my eyes cracked open and I regained conscious thought, I began to grow aware of my surroundings. And that’s when the fear kicked in.

        That’s when I registered the _pain._ I let out a hiss, a numb hand flying to the origin: my chest. There, I felt padding. “What the hell?”

        Why was my chest covered in gauze?

        I wracked my brain for any explanation, yet came up blank. I didn’t remember getting into any accidents, and regardless, I was in what looked like a _bedroom,_ not a hospital room. If I were truly in something like a car accident, or a cliff-diving accident, I would have been there, not here.

        _What if it’s wolf-related?_

Jared and them didn’t know that I knew, however. How could I have been in a wolf accident if I had yet to be around them in that form?

        _Maybe you lost some of your memories,_ I thought. But that wasn’t sensible. Yet, even in my dream, as I tried to think about the events leading up to sudden and absolute darkness, I found nothing.

        Maybe I truly was forgetting something. Something important. Something that would tie all the pieces together.

        Before I could continue to think about how I ended up here, the door opened. Sue Clearwater walked in. Behind her came Samuel Uley. The two seemed shocked to see me awake, sitting up on the bed and watching them enter silently.

        “Oh, you’re awake!” Sue said, looking relieved. She approached my bedside, and it was only then that I noticed the medical materials on the nightstand. Of course. She was the only family friend who knew how to handle the sight of blood. “How are you feeling, dear?”

        “Uh…” I glanced at Sam. His gaze was very unnerving, and I felt myself being scrutinized by him. It was like I was under a microscope, and he was slowly beginning to figure me out. “What happened?”

        Sue had originally been fiddling with another roll of gauze, but her handwork stopped the moment I asked that. Sam’s gaze fell back on her, and my eyes followed. They instantly went back to Sam, however, when I noticed that Sue was looking at him, almost as though urging him to do something.

        “Do you remember anything?” Sam asked me.

        “I know that you’re a shapeshifter. That Jared, Paul, and Embry are, too,” I said. I felt as though I needed to tell him that I knew; it was probably the way he was staring at me, like I was a puzzle he needed to solve. It made me want to spill my deepest secrets. I did not like that feeling. “But I don’t know how I ended up here.”

Sam’s face twisted into a frown. “Do you know what you are?”

        _How does he know about that?_ “What?” I didn’t want to admit that I was something abnormal. It made my reality become just that—a reality. I wanted to continue to live in ignorance, regardless of how it impacted me and everyone around me. It would make things seem easier, even if they truly weren’t.

        Sam’s eyes sharpened. “You forced Jared to shift. When he shifted, he attacked you.” He was choosing his words carefully. I could tell. “He didn’t mean to hurt you, Alissa. He feels terrible—”

        “Wait,” I burst out. “Is that why there’s a bunch of gauze on my chest?”

        _A great accompaniment to that ugly gash on your head,_ I thought sarcastically. I wanted to tear it all off, to see just how badly my skin had been marred. _Maybe you need a sign on your back that says, “Walking disaster.” Fucking idiot._

Sam looked pained. I couldn’t tell if it was from the thought of what the wound looked like underneath the gauze, or if an unwanted memory had crept into his head. “Yes.”

        “Oh,” I said dumbly. Like a dam, the memories came flooding back. I couldn’t believe I had actually forced Jared to shift. I was sure that he was kicking himself, stressing about how I’d most likely be scarred for the rest of my life—unless I suddenly developed healing powers, and was able to make my flesh whole again.

        _You’re a fucking idiot._ I was. There was nothing logical about forcing a shapeshifter to become wolf right in front of me, knowing damned well he had talons as sharp as scalpels and teeth even more life-threatening. It was irrational. It was stupid. I deserved the injury I got; maybe it would finally knock some sense into me.

        Doubtful. I had always been a reckless person. I committed to actions without really processing their consequences—and I would continue to do foolish things, until one ended up getting me killed.

        Sue sat quietly beside me, on a stool there, allowing me to drill Sam with questions. But I had one that was aimed at them both. I glanced at her, then at Sam. “Where is Paul?”

        My question, though out of the blue, didn’t startle either of them. Sue’s worried gaze cleared, and she smiled weakly at me. “He’s out in the living room. He’s been worried sick since you first got here; he’s hardly been home. Do you want me to send him in?”

        I didn’t even think about my answer. I said, “Yes, please.”

        Sue nodded, then hurriedly left the room.

        I was now alone with Sam, who looked sad. I wanted to know why, but I also didn’t want to pry into his private business. So I held my tongue.

        “We’ll talk later,” Sam said. His eyes were on my collarbone, the area where gauze began. He looked the epitome of guilty, which made absolutely no sense, because it wasn’t him who had left me injured and unconscious. Frankly, it wasn’t even Jared. I did this to myself. Yet, it was like he was internally cursing his heritage, the beast inside that once unleashed, could do tremendous amounts of damage.

        I forced myself to hold my questions. When the nosy part asked why, I simply thought, _It’s not my place_. “Later,” I said in agreement. And I watched him go, thinking about how I used to hate his guts. But now that I knew his secret, I wasn’t so sure.

        It was a few moments later that the door opened again. I was struggling to lay back down, my chest burning and aching with every move that I made. Tiny hisses left my mouth with every lurch of pain. But I turned into a statue when Paul made his entrance.

        He looked like hell. If I had to guess, I’d say the poor guy hadn’t gotten any sleep. His hair was a mess, stray ends going to and fro atop his scalp, and his eyes looked exhausted, like he had been tense and worried for hours on end.

        I felt horrible. There was nothing I could say or do to make up for what I put him through by being unconscious and bed-ridden. There was always a voice in my head telling me to enact revenge against Paul and Jared for the shit they put me through, but here, when Paul looked like he’d finally seen the light for the first time by resting his eyes upon a living, breathing _me_ , I couldn’t bring myself to be spiteful.

        Spite was what got me here. It was what made me grow bitter and angry, and it was what made me lose all sense of logic and run purely on _hurt-‘em-like-they-hurt-you_ mode.

        I felt disappointed in myself, for letting myself do the things that I did. Like all the sense had been stripped from my body, and it was mere neurons ping-ponging their way through a vindictive existence.

        I wasn’t going to let myself be that way any longer.

        “Hey,” I said softly. It didn’t sound like me. I wasn’t soft. I also wasn’t quiet. And Heaven forbid I be one-worded. But I was tired and in pain, and arguing didn’t seem like a very good way to spend my time awake.  

        Paul’s eyes brightened. I watched him head straight to the stool that Sue had once occupied, and he plopped down. “Hey.” His voice was just as soft.

        He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t quiet. And Heaven forbid he be one-worded.

        What the hell had happened to us?

         I surveyed his sitting figure. Now that he was close, I could see the bags underneath his eyes. “You look tired, Paul. Have you been sleeping?”

        Paul cracked a smile. “Somewhat,” he said. I took that as a way of him saying, _I haven’t been sleeping at all but I don’t want you to enact a fury’s rage on me for telling you that._ His eyes flickered down to my shirt collar, where the gauze peaked out just a smidgen. “Are you in pain?”

        “Somewhat,” I said with a smile. The smile only grew when Paul’s eyes narrowed, unamused by me mocking him. “A few painkillers would be _super_ right about now.”

        “Sorry to tell you, but… the one housing all the painkillers is downstairs entertaining guests. I could go and ask her for some, if you want me to?” Paul was already standing up, looking at me expectantly.

        I grew frantic. I flapped my hand up and down, desperately trying to get the proper words out, but all I could come up with was, “No! Paul, no! Stay.”

        Paul’s eyebrows raised. And then, the cocky bastard began to smirk. “Stay, huh?”

        “I need to tell you something,” I said. “It’s _important._ ” I sounded like a little schoolgirl. Eager to tell her crush something he didn’t care about at all.  

        “Alright. I’m listening.” Paul resumed sitting, but his posture was tense. His gaze was hard to read, but I caught a bit of uneasiness in those damned pools of chocolate.

        “My dad. You know what he is, right?”

        Paul’s face grew angry. He began to shake, so I quickly placed a hand on his arm, warning him to stay calm. We didn’t need him to shift in the middle of Sue Clearwater’s house. His eyes strayed from my face to where my hand rested on his arm, and he slowly stilled. “Yes,” he said simply.

        “Well, I got the gene. Apparently. I don’t really understand it, but—”

        “You don’t understand it?” Paul’s eyes darkened, and his expression became deadly. “I’ll enlighten you. Because you’ve got that fucking gene, bloodsuckers are gonna be after you. Just like they’ve been after your Dad for the past twenty fucking years.”

        The way he sounded, the way he looked, I knew he was holding this against my father, for being the one who gave me this specific genetic code, one that threw me into danger. He had probably gotten into arguments with him over it. That sounded like Paul.

        _Bloodsuckers are gonna be after you._ To make more Dakotas.

        “I’m scared, Paul,” I whispered. My exterior cracked, and I couldn’t bring myself to regain composure. He’d seen me scared before—it was nothing new for him. He was always good for comforting me. All it took was a single touch, and the fear washed itself away. I’d melt like putty inside his hands. “I don’t understand _any_ of this.”

        “I won’t let anything hurt you, Alissa. I’ll die before anything happens to you,” Paul told me. He sounded serious.

        I shook my head. That only made the feelings worse; it renewed my fear. I had never feared for myself. It was all for him, for Paul, who would _constantly_ be in the firing range so long as vampires existed. And I hated the feeling that accompanied that thought—distress. “I don’t _want_ you to lay down your life for me, Paul! I honestly think I would fall apart completely if something happened to you.”

        His eyes steeled. “Alissa, nothing’s going to happen to me. I promise.”

        “What if something does?” I thought of Dream-Paul. _I love you._ Was Real-Paul’s fierce protection of me spurred by that same sentiment?

        Our conversation after detention. Out in the parking lot. _Did you think that kiss meant nothing? That I felt nothing for you?_ Obviously _I fucking did._

I needed to know.

        “I was _made_ for this, Alissa,” Paul said, his hand reaching up to grasp hold of mine. Tingles erupted across my palm at the feeling of us touching. “ _Nothing’s_ going to happen to me. Okay?”

        “Paul,” I said tentatively. I flickered my gaze all over him, unable to think clearly. I was ready. Ready to take a cliff-dive. Eager to take the fall. Even if there was no one there to catch me at the bottom.

        Our eyes met and locked. “What?”

        I didn’t answer.

        As we continued to hold hands, lost in one another’s eyes, my free hand came up and grabbed Paul by the hair. And I pulled him forward.

        And for the second time, Paul and I kissed.

        But this time felt different.

        It felt like love.

     


	12. Chapter XII: A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of shit happens!

| THE HUMAN CONDITION |  
CHAPTER XII: A NEW BEGINNING

                        prt. ii // the rise and fall of dakota

**“** Full circle. A new terror born in  
death, a new superstition entering the   
unassailable fortress of forever.   
I am legend. **”**

_I Am Legend, Richard Matheson_

_-_

                                        _A week later…_

 **THE INTEGRATION** into Sam Uley’s wolf cult was a process I had been waiting for and anticipating but was also one that never physically came. Being made an honorary member of his super-secret circle? Losing my current reality and experiencing everything anew? All an _un_ reality. For fuck’s sake, the topic was never even brought up. Would have made a great dinner conversation, but alas—I was left hanging.  

        I was some sort of emissary, part of a generational curse, tied to my ancestors in one of the most privacy-evading ways possible, yet my sudden powers were of no apparent use. Sam never came to talk to me. I wasn’t brought to discuss boundaries with the Quileute council. Jared had disappeared completely. My own father avoided talking to me (about this new development, anyway; he was great for meaningless small talk) like the plague. No, nada, zilch, _nothing._ I was left to rot in my room, bedridden.

       

        Kallie hadn’t even called. No one from school bothered leaving messages. The only person who came by was my _Dad,_ who lived under the same roof, who ignored my questions but gave me company—as though I needed it. And I did need it, if I was honest. There wasn’t anyone else I could turn to. Taha Aki, who was my _guiding hand_ in this whole shithole of a bloodsucker-wolfman situation, hadn’t appeared since that night. If I was meant to be important, why did I feel so insignificant? All my questions were going unanswered. All the lies felt like hidden truths.

        A voice, the equivalent of Paul’s, appeared in my head. _Sounds like your life is falling apart, Ally._

        Paul was right for once. My life did feel like it was falling apart. Hell, maybe it already had, and I was left dizzy in the unraveled bits.

        I was told (by Sue, of course; who needed to visit a hospital when a family friend was a fucking nurse?) that my chest would never heal. There would always be scarring, and ugly, horrendous scabbing—and dammit, wouldn’t it have been useful if my inherited Gift had included healing powers? But I couldn’t bring myself to fucking care. I was left empty of guilt, anger, and grief. All I could _really_ feel was numbness. And was numbness even a feeling to begin with? In theory, all it meant was emptiness. A state of capacity. And fuck if I wasn’t lacking in everything but bumps and bruises.

        _You’re rambling. Shut the fuck up._ I _was_ rambling. Grasping for thoughts to think, reasons to be. And all the while, my heart was screaming for me to leave and find the answers myself, which really meant seeking out Paul. Who had stopped coming by the moment I’d been transferred from Sue’s guest room to my own home. Why had he stopped coming by? Maybe because of Jared. Maybe because of Dad. Maybe because the kiss had meant jack-shit, and he wanted nothing to do with me as a result.

        If Paul were here…

        _Look at you. A smitten, lovesick puppy. How is Paul the dog when here you are, your only goal in life to see his stupid face?_ I was embarrassing.

        Empty of capacity, my ass. The truth was this: I _did_ care. My mind was full of racing thoughts and incomprehensible feelings. I couldn’t distinguish between my anger and my guilt, so I decided I felt neither instead. And I was being a nuisance, both to my own health and the sake of everyone around me.

        Especially my father, a quiet, brooding son of a bitch, who was presently sitting by my bedside. Man, did he look annoyed.

        I knew what this meant; he was half a second from up-and-leaving, so I needed to interrogate him. While I still had a chance.  

        “Dad, am I annoying you?” I asked him. My train of thought had finally made full circle, and I concluded that my father was the one I needed to pester. For answers to Sam, Jared, and Paul, who were all assholes that kept avoiding me, even _after_ I knew their secrets. How had I gone from never being left alone to _always_ being alone? It was a strange, cruel world we lived in. “And be honest. It’s for science.”

        Dad, who had been reading a Stephen King novel and pretending he was in an isolated bubble, blinked up from his lap. “You should be resting.”

        “You’re gonna play _that_ game?” I harrumphed. I would have crossed my arms, but the gauze was itchy and I hated discomfort. “Okay, I get it. I’m annoying. Thanks for the input. Do I even need input? Nah, your face speaks enough for itself.”

        Dad drew his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, opened his mouth, then… shut it and continued reading.

        I groaned. “You’re such a dick.”

        “What have I told you about language?” He pinpointed me with his uber-scary, death-incarnate gaze, and damn. I was shaking in my rainbow socks.

        Both hands went up defensively. “S-Sorry, sir. I-It won’t happen again.” I was obviously fucking around. But in a room with two occupants—one a stand-up comedian and the other an actual fucking rock—there was no laughter, only awkward silence. And it felt like I was actually suffocating, with that deadpan look on his face and my ever-constant headache returning for a vengeance. Ouch, did my temples _throb_. What did Dad do? Continue staring, like a fucking prison guard. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was a robot.

        Dad’s forehead cinched, brows disappearing up into his hairline. But he switched his focus back to the book in front of him. With that change of attention, though, meant he was ignoring me. _Purposely_ ignoring me.

        Hm. Theory proven correct. He _did_ find me annoying.

        “Ugh, you’re so fu—I mean. You suck.” I blinked at him. “No one wants to tell me what’s going on. I thought Sam was supposed to explain all this shit to me?”

        There was a moment of silence. Then Dad’s gaze swept upward. His Stephen King novel— _Pet Sematary,_ I realized—snapped shut. “He’s busy,” Dad said.

        “With what? Being a dick?” I narrowed my eyes. This conversation, stemmed by my theory that Dad (and the rest of the world, really) found me annoying, had taken a swift turn. “You all are keeping me in the dark, and it’s really fucking pissing me off.”

        “It’s for your own benefit,” said Dad. His gaze was hard. And the frustration churning in my stomach was something that had been there since I’d been moved here, when everyone had decided to ignore and snub me. Everyone was tiptoeing around the full truth, and I’d only gotten strands of it. It was more than frustration now—it was resentment.

 _Because you’ve got that fucking gene, bloodsuckers are gonna be after you,_ Paul had said. He was never one for beating around the bush, and I knew the words he’d said weren’t lies. _Just like they’ve been after your Dad for the past twenty fucking years._       

        Ignoring the wary look in my Dad’s eye and pretending like he hadn’t just basically told me to _let it go_ , I said, “Dakota.” And I got the reaction I wanted. Just by hearing that name, Dad stiffened, back snapping straight and eyes enlarging. “First of our kind to be turned. A consultant to the Volturi. And he’s been after you for two decades. Sound familiar?”

        “You’re delving into something dangerous, Alissa,” he told me. His tone was dark and low.

        A derisive laugh burst out of me, and I waved a dismissive hand. “ _‘You’re delving into something dangerous, Alissa,’”_ I mocked. His words didn’t console me, they only enraged me further, and fuck, if I didn’t want to hit him. He was my father, but I wanted to _hit him._ He was keeping me in the dark, and I was tired of this game of Odd Man Out. “Bull-fucking-shit! I was already here to begin with. I mean, Jesus—you’re my Dad, and you’re an emissary. Jared’s my brother, and he’s a freakin’ _shapeshifter_. Paul’s my—well, he’s my I-don’t-know, and he’s also a part of this wolfman cult! What did you expect? For me to just pretend I’m fully human and go on with life as normal? I can’t. Not now. Not after—” My voice broke, and I glanced down at my chest.

        Dad stood up from his chair, his book dropping to the ground. His expression was cinched tight, eyes darker than I had _ever_ seen them, and I shrunk back. Scared of what words he had to throw at me—my awkward, quiet father, turned into a living, breathing, _seething_ disciplinarian. “You think Jared’s to blame for that?” he snapped at me, pointing downward.

        I opened and closed my mouth. All I could force out was a meek, “No.”

        His mouth stretched into a tight smile, one that didn’t match his eyes. “Good, because Jared didn’t cause it. _You_ did. Just an hour of knowing what you are, and you twisted it to fit your own sick benefit, hurting your brother,” Dad said, the words like spit; he was enunciating each one, and if there was a motive, it was definitely to puncture me. “He’s sick with guilt, Alissa. I haven’t seen him since your incident. After you fell unconscious, he let out a howl—then he ran into the woods. _I have not seen him since_.”

“Dad, I-I know it wasn’t him,” I said. I knew I just needed to shut up, knew everything I thought and said was stupid, or at the very least unnecessary, but… I talked anyway. “I know it was me. I’m sorry… I was just so _angry._ ”

        “You’re young, inexperienced, and foolish, Alissa,” my father said. “You’re rash and just don’t _think._ You’re stubborn and selfish, and Christ, you’re not wired to hurt or kill anyone. This life was not made for you. It’s only going to get you killed.”

        “Dad, I—” My eyes watered. Everything he said was true, but the way he said it—he thought very little of me. He was disappointed in me. He had probably warded Sam, Paul, and the rest from telling me anything for this exact reason. _He didn’t want me to be a part of it._ “But—Paul—”

        “For his own good and yours, stay away from him, Alissa.” He turned around, heading for the door. When he glanced back at me, at my crying, pathetic form, he almost seemed sorry. But the anger and frustration overrode any sort of guilt he may have felt. “Get some rest. You’ll be going back to school Monday.”

        The door slammed shut behind him as he left. His book stayed on the floor, abandoned.

        _He’s right,_ I thought upon his departure. My cheeks were soaked in tears, my jaw so tense I could hear my teeth grinding together, and my chest ached. I wanted to be angry with him for telling me the truth, and for warding me away from some of the only people I had left, but he was right for doing it. I’d get myself hurt, or others. But did this mean I had to go about the exact way I had before Paul’s shift?

        Paul and I were connected, in a way I couldn’t explain. What we had, what I felt for him, it was something worth fighting for. It was something I had dreamed of since our first kiss, and something I had dreaded being nothing but a farce since our second. Maybe loving him was a bad idea—a terrible one, even—and maybe I’d only get hurt in the process. But…

        There was nothing I wouldn’t do to keep Paul in my life, especially after learning _why_ he hadn’t come by. My father could strip me of using my Gift, strip me of being an honorary member of Sam Uley’s wolfman cult, strip me of reconciliation with Jared—but Paul?

        He’d have to lock me in a room without doors or windows first.

        -

        It was Saturday night. And aside from the obvious, it was also a time when I knew Dad would be at the archives and no one would be over to babysit me. It was my first (and only) chance to see and talk with Paul before school. I didn’t know if he was home, or even if he was willing to break my father’s code of trust. But fuck it, right? You never knew until you tried.

        Outside his house, I didn’t know which room was his. The only times I’d been here were times with Jared in tow, and we usually sat in the living room and played games, or just talked. I was never allowed up in his room (Jared’s rule, of course). Being here, I felt stupid. I had no possible way to see him without waking his father.

        An idea popped into my head. _Let’s just look around,_ I thought. Then I shoved my freezing hands into my parka’s pockets. Beanie stooped low onto my head and a scarf pulled taut around my throat and mouth, I felt more than ready to investigate. The snow fell light around me as I ventured to the back of the house.

        _He has superhuman hearing, right? Maybe if I just…_ “Paul!” I whisper-shouted. A prayer went up to God from yours truly that Paul’s father wasn’t in the windowed room by my head. But when I looked up—

        No one was at the window. However, the window itself wasn’t completely dark. The lights in the room were dimmed, sure, but they were bright enough that I could tell it was occupied. The fast-paced, howling wind was loud as fuck and made it difficult to hear if anything was playing or being said. I strained my ears.

        _“All I really want to know,_  
        I already know.  
        All I really want to say,  
        I can’t define.”

“Sublime?” I muttered to myself before I frowned. Paul never really talked about his music taste—except that one time he mentioned being a Blink fan—but knowing he liked rock and alternative music made me wonder if I was standing under his room. And if that were the case, I really hated that he hadn’t yet realized I was out here.

        _Are I not the love of thy life?_ I wanted to snicker so fucking bad, but I restrained myself. Being a nuisance wasn’t on the agenda tonight.

        Or maybe it was.

        Taking a chance, I picked up a rock out of the snow. I shuffled backward a few steps, avoiding the tree just a few feet behind me, then tossed the rock at the window. My throw was with as much effort as I could muster, but it was still pretty weak. If this wasn’t Paul’s room, I could just hide and hope his father didn’t notice… and pretend this never happened to avoid further embarrassment.

        My luck was just right (yet also wrong) because before I knew it, Paul was standing at the window and pulling it up. He leaned his head out, with a torso absolutely fucking _bare,_ and almost immediately he locked his gaze on me. His face was unreadable from this distance, but who cared? All I could focus on was his chest. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

        I blushed, thankful for the scarf that hid me. Then I realized I had to drag it down, in order to talk to him. _Fuck._ “Dad talked to me,” I said, after I’d thrown out my pride. My flushed face was fully on display. “I’m gonna hazard a guess and say you haven’t been around because of whatever he told you.”

        Paul crossed his arms and leaned on the window frame. “You’d be correct.”

        That wasn’t the answer I wanted. Maybe the one I’d expected, but not the one I wanted. _At least he didn’t say it was because you’re a terrible kisser._ Fuck, that was true.

         “You actually want to listen to him?” I puckered out my lips. “I thought you were a bad boy. Since when did you let anyone tell you what to do?”

        Paul breathed out a sigh, something I only noticed because of its instant crystallization. “Well, you see, Alissa—I do listen to someone. It’s not your Dad, though.”

        I threw up my hands. “Is it President Bush?” I asked. The question, as stupid as it was funny, was more for humor value than anything else. If this conversation were anything like what you’d get in a 90s rom-com, I knew what his answer would be.

        He laughed. “Nah, but good guess,” he said. There was a huge grin on his face. “It’s you.”

        Jesus, what a cliché. “If you exclusively listen to me, then why haven’t you been by?” I realized how stupid I sounded after the words left my mouth. If Dad truly was trying to keep us apart, he never would have let Paul in the house—and him being around constantly or keeping me under surveillance by babysitters didn’t give Paul many chances. Had he been waiting for me to make the first move? “Wait—was this what you wanted all along? Me to come confront you?”

        That same lopsided grin appeared on his mouth, stretching from ear to ear. “Guilty as charged.”

        “Well, I’m here,” I said. “Are you gonna come out so we can talk or what?”  

        There was a brief pause, in which Paul just stared at me. Then he said, “We’re talking right here, aren’t we?”

        “Well yeah, but…” I rolled my eyes. “I have to crane my neck to look at you. That shit hurts.”

        Paul laughed. “You do that anyway, Lis.”

        _Damn you,_ I thought, lip curling _._ “Look, just come out here, alright?”

        “Okay, mother,” he said, making a face at me. When I said nothing in return, only giving him a look that _dared_ for him to stay and mock me, he stuck his head back inside. 

        As the tiny window closed and the music turned abruptly off, I became jittery with nerves. I was fucking anxious. What was I going to say? What was Paul going to say in return? Would I be grounded and handcuffed to my bed when I went home? Was this all a mistake? Why the fuck was I here in the first place?

        _You wanted to get answers,_ I told myself, pointing out the obvious. And it wasn’t a lie; I _did_ want answers. I left because I knew if there was anyone that would be willing to lead me out of the dark, it’d be Paul. We were only now rekindling a relationship that burnt out because of Jared’s interference, and with Dad’s own attempts to sabotage, it made it so much harder to dig ourselves out. Yet here I was, eager to keep our connection alive.

        About two minutes after Paul had disappeared back into his room, I heard snow crunching. I whipped around, heartbeat suddenly erratic, and felt an involuntary smile tweak my lips when I caught the sight of just who it was that had crept up on me.

        “Shirtless? _And_ shoeless? Jeez, you’re an idiot,” I said, eying him up and down. “No shoes, no shirt, no service.”

        Paul smirked at me, throwing a glance at the very body parts I’d noticed the bareness of. At least he had the decency to wear shorts; I couldn’t see a future in which I wouldn’t squeal and blush if he showed up naked in front of me. He was warmer than the average human, so I doubted he’d even notice the crisp temperature if he _was_ completely naked. But I still appreciated the coverage, no matter how slight.

        “I’m sure you could make some arrangements,” said Paul, his manner suggestive. “You wanted to talk. Never said anything about the attire.”

        He had me there. “Okay, yeah, you’re right,” I said. I walked closer to him, pulling my scarf up to my chin. It was cold as _fuck_ outside and I wanted nothing more than to be a part of his warmth. “So, I guess you know I’m not allowed to use my powers. Or know anything else about your little wolf-y cult.”

         Paul nodded. “I agree you shouldn’t be a part of the fighting and killing,” he told me seriously. When he caught a glimpse of my gaze, saw I was half a moment from objecting and starting an argument, he added, “You aren’t a shapeshifter, Alissa. Your Dad isn’t either. You weren’t _made_ to do any of the shit we do.”

        “I was never given the opportunity to know more about myself,” I said. _You’re sounding like a petulant child._ “If I have powers, I can _use_ them to do what you guys do. Right? If Dad can do it, I can too. I can learn.”

        His (very pointed) gaze fell on the center of my chest, where my large black parka covered what lay underneath. The ugly, obvious scars I’d avoided looking at since the very incident that gave me them. “Your Dad’ll come around and show you how to use your powers,” said Paul. “I can’t say I agree with that. You were already hurt once from this bullshit, and with bloodsuckers here even _after_ the Cullens left, I don’t trust you being a part of it. It’d kill me to see you hurt again, and that’s what’s going to happen if you put yourself where you don’t belong.”

        “Paul, pain’s part of the cycle of life,” I said, rolling my eyes at him. “So is learning. So is experience. What’s the point in living if I’m just going to be sheltered?”

        “Just…” Paul blew out a frustrated breath. “Your Dad’s afraid that if you use your powers and become anything like him, Dakota will come to claim you for himself. _Make_ you into one of him.” 

        “What if he already knows that I was given the gene? They’re after my father. I’m going to assume they know he had children. I doubt they’re stupid enough to think the Gift skipped a generation. What if they know, Paul? Then I’ve been in danger since the day I was born.” I felt like a child trying to play an adult game. Is that how my father saw me? Is that how they _all_ saw me?

        Paul’s lips thinned, until it looked like he was mouthless. His jaw was twitching. “Dakota is dangerous, Alissa,” he said. “He’s been after your Dad since he first got the gene. He _killed_ your grandfather because he refused to be turned. If he catches word that you’ll be anything like them, any bit as _powerful_ as them, they’ll want you.”

        “Snubbing me out and forcing me to go on with life as usual isn’t the solution,” I told him. I wanted him to understand—there was nothing we could do to make me perfectly human. Nothing we could do to make me perfectly safe. “I’ll always have this gene. We can’t get rid of it. It’s going to always be there. So I _have_ to be a part of this.”

        Paul looked utterly frustrated, like he was about to shout curses and punch things and _shift_ , all because he didn’t like what he was hearing. “Alissa,” he said, after a moment of standing and staring, of combing fidgety fingers through his hair. His voice was hoarse. “You could die. You know that? Dakota’s not someone to fuck around with. He’s not human. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you could get yourself killed, okay? You could fucking die.”

        “Okay,” I said softly. “Okay, I know. But I’ll learn. He won’t kill me. But he will if you keep me in the dark.” Taha Aki’s ominous, cryptic words rang through my head, and I knew this was the right decision. If I left words unsaid and let my human world cloud the darker, supernatural side, my fate would only end in blood.

        Paul walked over to me, and he pulled me into an embrace. His body was warm, and hard, and felt like a fucking safety net, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t fall untense from just a few seconds in his arms. His impulsive hug struck me as foreign, since he’d never been the affectionate type, but I knew things were different now. _We_ were different.

        It felt like he was trying to convince himself I was real, that what I said was the truth and being brought into his world would keep me safe and protected. I knew he was worried. He was scared that I was talking out of my ass and I’d never be able to handle his world. He was right to worry—right to think I could fail and end up dead either way. But did I want him proven right?

I pushed myself out of the hug, leaned up on my toes, and met Paul halfway in a kiss.

         I pulled away after a few seconds. The kiss was a mere peck, but it felt amazing—not quite like fireworks exploding, but somewhere close. More like a toe-curling ecstasy, a high I could never get enough of. At Paul’s dazed, confused stare, I only smiled.

        “Wanna start a super-secret cult of our own?” I asked him.

        His brows flew upward. “What?”

        There was something in his eyes, this fond look I couldn’t quite decipher, and I knew that even if shit did hit the fan, I’d at least have him to brace the fray with. It made my next words feel all the more _right._ I snaked my arms around his neck, bringing him closer to my level, _damning_ him for being so freaking _tall_ —and said in his ear, “Let’s be lovers.”

        He jerked back. When he next looked at me, it was with incredulity. “What?” he repeated.

        “For an all-mighty wolfman, you sure are _slow_ ,” I said, with a laugh. “Let’s date! Damn my father. Damn Dakota. Damn everybody. No one has to know—or _everyone_ can know—I don’t care. I just know I want you.”  

        I was putting my heart on the line here, exposing it for him and him alone to see, and I hoped he wouldn’t pull a fast one and leave. Men were such wusses when it came to feelings, and damn if Paul wasn’t the epitome of _fuck-feelings-let’s-just-punch-shit_ male. I didn’t—

        Paul swooped me up in his arms, twirling me, before sitting me down and smashing his lips back against mine. And _fuck_ , I’d never experienced anything like it. Like him. His eyes fluttered shut, and mine quickly followed. His hands slithered from my waist to my face, cupping my jaw, and my own arms remained around his neck. I was risen up on my tiptoes, my body curving perfectly against his, and all I could taste was him, all I could feel was him, all I could breathe was him. He tasted like mint, he felt like a wall, and his scent was like that of musk.

        And the kiss itself was out-of-this-world. Words couldn’t express just how weird and lovely and exciting, all at once, it felt.

Paul’s lips unattached from mine. The movement was slow, like he hadn’t wanted to leave at all. When I opened my eyes, with great reluctance, it was to meet his. The fond look had disappeared, and in its place was something deeper. Darker. And the way he continued to hold my face was something that made me want more.

        There was a big smirk on Paul’s face, his eyes brighter than stars. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, Alissa Cameron?” he asked teasingly.  

        “Why yes, Paul Lahote. Do you accept?” I smiled.

        He gave me a look, like that kiss should have spoken for itself. I just laughed and leaned up for another one.

        _Three, four, five. That’s five. Five kisses. And he initiated one himself._ At least they proved that whatever this was, even if temporary, it was _real._ And it was tangible. I could touch it, feel it, taste it.

It wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. And for once, I didn’t feel like the direction I was heading was a bad one.

        -

        Paul had walked me home. Said something about wanting me to be safe, scolded me for having come to his house alone and through the woods, and helped jump me to my bedroom. It was one hell of an experience, I’d say that much, especially when he nearly missed the window pane. Good thing I left my window unlocked.

        We’d exchanged goodbyes, where he’d given me my sixth kiss, and I’d gotten ready for bed. I changed out my gauze with a new set, I brushed out my hair and pulled it up, I washed my face and took sweet time brushing my teeth. When I’d put on an old shirt and shorts and finally laid down in bed, I felt content.

        Around 3 in the morning, I woke to a strange creaking.

        _What the fuck?_ I thought and rose up in my bed. The covers fell down from my chest. I looked around. There was nothing here, there, _anywhere_ —and the door was shut tight. The television was turned off. The window was closed. The creaking couldn’t be from within my room—

        I heard it again. And it was close. It _had_ to be from within this room.

        I didn’t dare call out or move. That’s what the idiot girls in horror movies did, right? Yeah, right before they got themselves killed. I didn’t want the same fate.

        _Even though you’re in the same room with it,_ said an eerie voice in my head, the very one that always liked to spook and fuck around with me. _You’re fucked either way._

“Who’s there?” I said shakily, deciding the voice was right. I _was_ fucked either way.

        Nothing moved, nothing said anything. I was basically caught in suspense, as per usual in horror movies. But then, a shadow moved from the wall—one in the shape of a man—and before I could scream, there was something clasping around my lower skull. Something holding my jaw captive. And unlike Paul’s gentle caress, this one aimed to hurt.

        _Fuck!_ I shouted in my head, tears stinging my eyes. And though I moved my jaw, I couldn’t find an out—the hand was much too strong. I was desperate to bite their hand and remove myself from this situation. But how could I? I was weak, foolish, and _definitely_ not Final Girl material. Maybe the Final Girl’s companion, but I’d still die in the end.

        “Ah, ah, ah,” the shadow above me said, in a voice a touch too patronizing for my liking. His voice was deep and baritone. “You’re not getting away that easily, Alissa. Not when we have much to discuss.”

        I blinked away the tears and stared up at him. I couldn’t speak, so all I did was stare.

        He laughed. “You think I’m another of your guardians testing you? Sorry, sweetheart. If I was, you wouldn’t be able to feel me. I wouldn’t be able to taste your fear.”

        _What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!_

        His grasp increased around my jaw, so tight I felt like it might break. He leaned closer, and what most alarmed me was the lack of scent. _Like he was an actual shadow._ “You will make for a powerful addition to us,” he purred.

        My eyes widened. And my struggle increased, so terrified I felt like I couldn’t breathe. _Is this who I think it is?_

His hand reached up “You’ll realize in due time that fighting is pointless. We will _always_ find you.”

        A shard of moonlight came streaking through the window, and suddenly, I saw him. I saw the man—no, _vampire—_ pinning me to my own bed.

        “Hello Alissa,” Dakota said. He had eyes red as a viper’s and lips as pale as liquid nitrogen. His hair was the very color of the night sky. And his skin was tan like mine, yet ashen to a deathly degree. The way he stood over me, he wasn’t new to hunting. He was a professional. And here, alone in his grip, closed in by four walls, I was what he had his sights on. I was his prey.

        _This isn’t real,_ I told myself. It couldn’t be. If it was, my father would have run in here by now. Sam and Paul and Jared would have scented him. Right? They knew I was defenseless. And they knew what vampires smelled like. _I hope._

        The pressure on my jaw was excruciating, and all I could wonder was why the hell so many bad things were happening to _me_ of all people. “We’ll talk later,” said Dakota, with a smile that sent chills down my spine. _He said we had much to discuss. Why leaving so soon?_ “I’m sure you’ll feel a little more accommodating then.”

        My jaw was released, and the shadow above me disappeared. Not before a sharp sensation cut through my defenses and a bright white enveloped everything.

        I shot up in my bed. My entire body ached like a fucking train had hit me and sweat covered me from head to toe.

        After moments spent blinking around, of trying to calm my heart, of panicking and hoping I was alone for good this time, I realized something. Something terrible.

        _That_ was _Dakota… this wasn’t a nightmare…_ I chewed on my lip. And I felt ridiculous, felt so fucking stupid… and knew this game was one that I wouldn’t win. Not when I was up against the game-maker.

        _That’s why he’s so dangerous. That’s why they’re so afraid of him._

Dakota could visit and manipulate dreams.

        -

        _A/N: Long time no fucking see, guys. Bet you thought I’d gone off the grid. Can’t say I didn’t. Shit’s been fucking me up lately. During July I had work, and at work I was constantly being harassed and antagonized by this one chick who’s hated me since grade school. I was really depressed, from that and all the shit I had to deal with from my parents. August was the same way. Going back to college made things a little better. I go to the same college as the girl who loves to harass me, but good thing is the campus is big and I hardly see her! When I do, she gives me death glares. Oh fucking well lmao._

_College has been great to me and I feel much better. I’m eating better, I’m able to socialize, my grades are good—the only thing sucking major ass is my sleep schedule. I never sleep. But at least there’s coffee, right?_

_I haven’t been very motivated to write for this story. I feel like it’s terrible and lacks direction. I absolutely abhor it, and the only thing that wills me to finish it is the people who actually_ do _enjoy it, as far and in between as they are. My writing is shit and every time I write on this story, I get angry and want to delete it because it sucks. If this chapter is garbage, that’s why. Also because it’s a bit of a filler. Fillers are never very satisfying, are they? As an avid reader, I apologize for giving you this boring piece of shit. Sure, yeah, Dakota shows up in it, but let’s be real—that was completely unoriginal. Dakota is basically Freddy Kreuger. BUT I promise, it will get better._

_Maybe not. I almost deleted this piece of shit over the course of the last three or so months I’ve spent not updating. I will probably wind up doing so anyway. THIS STORY SUCKS TIS TRUE, AT LEAST I’M NOT A BITCH ASS LIAR AND WILL AGREE WITH U_

_Let me stop being self-degrading for one moment to say please, please, please—COMMMMMENT! I read each and every single one of them. Give your honest opinion. Tell me what you’d like to see plot-wise. I take all comments into consideration. Thank you._


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